


Occurrences

by kaelma



Series: Holmes in the Commonwealth [5]
Category: Fallout 4, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Rated ‘E’ for chapter 5, Sole Survivor is Sherlock Holmes, and chapter 14, and chapter 8, chapter 15 too, chapter 20 is pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelma/pseuds/kaelma
Summary: A collection of miscellany in the "Holmes in the Commonwealth" universe. Publick Occurrences articles, happenings in Sanctuary and other settlements, whatever little tidbits I think of in the world.Edit: It has very quickly morphed into the Danse/Preston show with occasional interruptions by other people.





	1. On the Road With the General

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a 'part x' in any sort of chronological sense. This is a collection of scenes that take place in the same world as my "Holmes in the Commonwealth" series, but aren't from Holmes's point of view.

On the Road with the General  
By Piper Wright

A new group has become a constant presence in the city these days. The sight of a militia hat in the Market has become as ever present as smell of Takahashi’s noodles. The Minutemen are back from their fall from grace, and this time they’re going to get it right. At least, that’s the hope. But while the world should be grateful to them for taking down the Institute, what’s it like inside their ranks? What do we really know about how the Minutemen operate with the average citizen of the Commonwealth? Fortunately, this reporter has in inside source right at the top. What’s the point of being friends with the General himself if you can’t ask a few questions?

Mr. Holmes, as we know him in Diamond City, freely admits to being reluctant when he first took charge as General of the Minutemen. He has since then come to, if not embrace the position itself, value the importance it holds. When Radio Freedom calls, he always answers, and it’s been calling quite a bit over the past week. I offered to tag along the last time I spotted him headed out of the park, in his full assortment of armor, bowler hat on his head. I asked him why he never wears the Minutemen uniform. He said, “I wear it when the task at hand calls for a General’s full regalia. Traveling by foot to a distant settlement with raider trouble is not one of those occasions.”

The settlement in question was Greentop Nursery, a small greenhouse settlement to the northeast. The settlers there said the raiders were coming from the direction of Dunwich Borers, the remains of a pre-War mining operation to the east. East we went.

The first thing the Minutemen’s General did was head to the nearest terminal and disable the turrets. A raider spotted us; he didn’t live long after, but long enough to alert a few of his friends. Holmes is stealthy, handy with a pistol, and knows how to swing a sword. He’s also got a mean throwing arm, as the raiders on the receiving end of a frag grenade found out. Once the surface level was clear, he headed down.

“This is a fully functioning mining operation, which means there are likely raiders on every level. I hope you’re not claustrophobic, Miss Wright.”

“Don’t worry about me, Blue.” What can I say, Vault Dwellers wear blue. He requested I firmly remind my readers that I am the only person in the entire Commonwealth, if not entire world, that can call him that without offending him. You’ve been warned.

Our descent through the mine played out much the same way as up top; sneak, fight, repeat. Holmes checked every terminal as we went, out of curiosity at first, but becoming more alarmed by what he found. Dunwich management hadn’t cared one bit about the safety of their workers, requests for such simple measures as railings routinely ignored. As we headed further down into the mine, the raider population dropped, but the feral population rose. How many workers were trapped in the mine the day the bombs fell? Almost worse than the ferals was the vibration of the ground as we went deeper. Holmes assumed there must be drilling happening somewhere. I was not convinced. I didn’t know what was causing the shaking, but some gut feeling told me it wasn’t a drill.

Holmes hadn’t stopped checking every terminal we came to the whole way. As we reached the bottom of the pit, we found the leader of the raiders, a woman decked out in iron armor and sporting some wicked burns. Once she was dead, Holmes once again checked the nearby terminal. I asked him if he’d learned anything interesting he wanted to share.

He glanced up, sort of like he’d forgotten I was there. “In addition to Management caring not a whit for the well-being of their employees, they were also lying to them. Something was going on down on Station 4, though there’s no clear indication what it was.” The ground shook. He continued, unperturbed, “The cargo shipments from this place stopped, due to the interference of the ferals and what is only referenced as ‘things down in the mine.’ The leader we have just dispatched went down deeper into the mine herself when the crew she sent to clear out the ferals below didn’t come back. She returned, and… “I’m safe in the light.””

“What?”

“That’s all. The last entry says ‘I’m safe in the light,’ thirty two times.”

The ground shook, strong enough this time I had to adjust my footing. “Blue? There isn’t any drilling going on down here.”

He frowned, and slowly nodded, “I fear that you’re right. Come on. Station 4 holds the answers.”

The shaking was near constant now as we reached Station 4. Holmes again went straight to the terminal. The Project Manager of Station 4 was in on whatever Management was doing. They even hired a fake crew. Then they lured the other Project Managers down to Station 4, for… something. Whatever the plan was, it couldn’t have been pleasant. What were they doing down here? What were they trying to find? I spotted a water-filled pit -

Suddenly everything was hazy, the chamber filled with warm yellow light, figures of people walking along the path in front of us, headed for some sort of temple… and then ferals were attacking us in the blinding white fluorescence of the work lights.

One of them got a good swipe in at my leg that brought me down to one knee. Holmes was right there, decapitating it with his sword. I returned the favor by shooting the feral behind him in the head. Once they were all down, he used a stimpak on my leg and helped me to my feet. I asked if he’d had some sort of vision just then, my heart pounding.

He nodded once, “Some sort of hallucination. Perhaps something in the air down here.”

“If it was people headed toward a temple by firelight, then we had the same hallucination and what are the chances? Why aren’t you more freaked out about this place?”

“There must be a logical explanation, Piper. We simply haven’t found it, yet.” He walked to the edge of the water.

I wasn’t buying it. He could say whatever he wanted about logic and reason, and he probably believed all of it, but he was also spooked. He just hid it a hell of a lot better than I could.

Then he tossed his hat to the ground and took a RadX.

“Blue? Don’t do what I think you’re going to do. Blue, wait!”

He dove into the water with a splash. I stood there on the edge, waiting, the ground shaking around me, the bright lights washing out whatever color might have existed, making the chamber feel even more unnatural. No wonder the raiders didn’t want to come down here. ‘I’m safe in the light,’ she’d said…

Holmes gasped for air as he swam up, pulling himself out of the water as the ground shook like an earthquake.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” I demanded, relieved and furious.

“A face… a pupiless eye, staring up from the abyss…”

My blood ran cold. “Stop it, Blue, that isn’t funny,” but he was way too pale for this to be a joke. I helped him to his feet, “Snap out of it!”

He took a clear breath, and retrieved his hat. “Of course. My apologies,” he said, sounding more like himself, “I’m not sure what came over me. Let’s get out of here.”

“Blue. What are you holding.”

He glanced down at the long, twisted knife of black metal in his hand. “Oh. A sacrificial blade of some sort. It was on the altar.”

“The what!”

The earthquake intensified. “This is not the time, Piper. Back to the surface.”

The shaking lessened as we got further away from Station 4, the air somehow lighter and the light warmer, despite still being underground. Once we were back up top, Holmes finally explained, “I thought the answers would be below the water, and I was right. There was a statue, some sort of ancient deity no doubt, that the Management were secretly excavating, though I’m not certain to what ultimate purpose.”

“So the pupiless eye in the abyss was just a statue.”

“Naturally.”

I didn’t quite believe him, but I didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. “You’re keeping the knife?”

“Why not? Surely you don’t believe some ancient subterranean deity could come looking for it?” He looked it over, considering. “It is a bit of an eldritch blade, isn’t it?”

“It’s eerie, Blue.”

“It’s a weapon, Miss Wright, no more, no less. Now, I’ve a bit of business to see to before headed back to Diamond City; I want to make a personal appearance at the Slog now that the trade routes have been cleared of mutants, check on the progress of the new settlement in Outpost Zimonja, and then I need to report in at Sanctuary. Are you joining me, or has this bit of subterranean terror unnerved you enough to retreat?”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” I scoffed, “but I’m writing all about this when we get home.”

 

Greentop Nursery was thankful, and more than willing to give up beds for our use while Holmes’s clothes dried out overnight. Holmes wouldn’t hear of it, and so we built an extra bed… which he insisted I use, while he made do with an old sleeping bag on the ground.

Neither of us slept well. I saw a face in the dark, black water closing in around me as voices chanted in a strange language I couldn’t begin to replicate. I don’t plan on going down into any more mines anytime soon. But, the sun rose the next day, and the world seemed a little brighter, a little better.

Nothing in the days following compared to what happened in Dunwich Borers. The Slog is growing tarberries in peace, the settlement in Zimonja has a pair of newly constructed turrets to help discourage raiders, and I got to see the Minutemen training grounds in Sanctuary.

There’s been a bit of disagreement within the ranks concerning training, particularly between Colonel Preston Garvey and his new Lieutenant Colonel (who requested I keep his name out of any publication I may write). I spoke with Sanctuary’s resident engineer, who goes by Sturges, to get a better sense of how the new leaders are working with each other.

“Preston thought [the Lt.Col.] was too hard on people who already had enough hardship. Everyone in the Commonwealth already knows how to shoot, or else they’d be dead. Even pulled rank. Been with Preston since Quincy, and I don’t think I’d ever seen him that angry. Thought [Lt. Col] was going to punch him, but he backed down. He apologized! Said he wasn’t trying to usurp Preston’s authority and he knows he’s only tolerated cuz he’s a friend of the General, and I’ll be damned if Preston wasn’t flabbergasted. Said he hadn’t thought [Lt. Col.] was trying to usurp anything, just that he was being an argumentative son of a bitch. [Lt. Col.] might have smiled. He said the training may seem harsh, but it’s necessary. Basically told Preston to give it a chance and see if he didn’t see huge improvement, only with a lot more words, and Preston agreed.”

I asked if the result was a success. Sturges smiled. “Don’t know I’d call it a 'huge' improvement, yet, but whatever the Lieutenant Colonel’s doing is sure as hell working.”

I don’t know much about military training, but it looked like everything was running smoothly. Most of the recruits I talked to had nothing but positive words for their Lt. Col. - he’s hard, but respected. As for Col. Garvey, he’s practically a legend in his own right. He was there when the Institute fell. Ask him anything about it though, and he’ll tell you all the reasons you should be thanking the General, or the Minutemen as a whole, or even the Commonwealth itself, instead of him.  
It’s a strange bunch of people the General has at his back, but all of them want to help people, some way or another. It’s about time someone in the Commonwealth cared about not just someone else, but everyone else. Anyone. Man, woman, or child, human, ghoul, or synth. Even a few Institute scientists that escaped have been taken in by Minutemen settlements.

They’re not perfect. All three top men in command will be the first to tell you they’re still just people. The Minutemen can’t be everywhere at once, but they’re trying. Mistakes will be made, because everyone makes them, but they will own up to their mistakes and be held accountable when they happen. The knowledge of how the Minutemen failed is all too palpable in the Colonel’s memory, in particular. He’s doing everything he can to ensure that doesn’t happen again. Even if it doesn’t work, even if it all falls apart again… isn’t it good that someone tried to make the Commonwealth a better place? Maybe trying is all any of us can do, and maybe of everyone did it together, it would be enough to keep away the things that lurk in the dark.


	2. You're One of Us Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston doesn't understand why Danse refuses to see the Brotherhood as evil. Danse doesn't understand why Preston keeps insisting that Danse is a person worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This conversation happens directly after Chapter 22 of The Adventures of Holmes and Valentine. I recommend you read that for context, but it isn't strictly necessary. 
> 
> Obviously, if you are reading "Holmes in the Commonwealth" and want to avoid spoilers, save this for later.

 

Danse stretched with a grimace as he exited his armor and entered his quarters. He was the only person in Sanctuary who didn't share living space, a fact that made him exceedingly uncomfortable despite the fact that no one seemed to mind. Everyone knew he valued his privacy. Most of them knew why… or thought they did. His earlier conversation with the General and Garvey about the Brotherhood had reminded Danse just how little anyone actually understood.

He hadn't been able to get Garvey’s defense of him out of his head. _“If they come for you, then I don't care what the General thinks, the Brotherhood will have a war with the Minutemen on their hands.”_ It was flattering, but at the same time Danse was all too aware of how much his new commanding officer would love an excuse to blow his old one out of the sky, literally.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned, embarrassed to be taken by surprise, and saw Garvey standing in his doorway. “Colonel,” Danse said, standing straight with his hands behind his back. “How can I be of assistance?”

Garvey shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought we should talk. I wanted to make sure you knew…” he sighed, “We’ve had our disagreements, but you're one of us now.”

Danse nodded once, acknowledging the words, but he had to ask, “If a Brotherhood symbol was still painted on my armor, would you afford me the same “Commonwealth belongs to everyone philosophy” you grant the rest of the world?”

Garvey frowned, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!” Danse hadn’t meant to shout, but he was too frustrated to pretend, and for some reason it was important to him that Garvey at least try to understand. “It's a part of me. Everything I believe… believed… if I escaped and my memories were replaced before I joined the Brotherhood, then the Brotherhood shaped who I am. They are the first home that I can remember.”

Garvey stared at him, baffled. “They want you dead!”

“Of course they do. I'm an abomination, a mistake of science -”

“You're _not_  a mistake,” Garvey vehemently stated, even taking step forward.

“I am to them." Danse spoke calmly despite the twist of his stomach, "I'm their worst nightmare, a synth who infiltrated their ranks, even if I didn't know it. It's what they believe to be true, and a war with the Minutemen isn't going to change that. It's what I myself believed until not long ago." A thought occurred to him, "Be honest, Garvey. When did you start caring what happened to synths?”

Garvey's protest died on his tongue. “When the General took me with him to the Railroad,” he admitted. “I never thought about them before, guess I didn't even think they were real, not really. But when I saw what the Railroad was doing, when I had to think about synths as a reality, it made sense that something so human that no one can tell if it’s human or not has every right to the same chance at a life as everyone else.”

Danse was struck by how sincere he was. Garvey truly believed that synths were no different than anyone else. It was a viewpoint Danse had yet to fully adopt. That synths were not inherently evil he had accepted… but they still weren’t human. He still wasn't human. As far as he was concerned, that was a significant difference.

That wasn’t the issue right now, however. “You formed an opinion through observation, rather than gunfire. I believe that is the approach the General is trying to take."

Garvey was silent a moment, then sighed, “Yeah. Guess so.” He rallied, “I'm not going to sacrifice my belief that innocents should be defended just so the Brotherhood can have their belief synths should be slaughtered.”

Danse was stunned, “Of course not! That was never expected. Why would you even suggest it?”

Garvey was confused. “I don't understand you at all.”

“Not everything is black and white, or us versus them.” He realized what he’d just said and felt his face warm, chagrined. “That’s one of the harder lessons I’ve had to learn.”

Garvey smiled, a little, but he remained skeptical. “Maybe. And sometimes it’s a thin line between grey and black.”

“Why do you hate the Brotherhood so much?”

“Hate’s a strong word. I just wish they’d go back where they came from. They don't care about people, just how people can help their own agenda. Shoot-first-ask-questions-later types.”

It was Danse’s turn to be skeptical. “Unless you traveled to the Capital Wasteland in your youth, I presume this opinion was developed through stories overheard from scavvers and settlers coming north?”

“Their behavior since they got here hasn’t done a whole lot to improve my first impression.”

“They’ve largely kept to themselves. Apart from one recon team that needed to ask a Vault-Dweller for assistance in order to survive, there’s been very little contact with Commonwealth citizens.”

A larger smile at that, but he still wasn’t convinced. “Well. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? The Brotherhood of Steel could have really helped the Commonwealth, but they have no intention of doing so. Your mission was to find proof of the Institute and confiscate any technology you could find, right? How many settlers did you offer a hand?”

“We were sent on a mission, and we stuck to that mission. Anyone we encountered who was in need, we attempted to assist, provided it did not hinder our progress. After half my team was killed, the opportunity to play good Samaritan significantly dwindled. We were a bit preoccupied with fighting off daily attacks of ferals.”

Garvey blinked. “Half your team?”

Danse flinched. He shouldn’t have let that slip. “Four men. Each one dead because of a decision I made. It took some time before I was able to feel any sort of confidence in myself again…" He mentally cursed the admission, his next words rushed, "That probably wasn't what you hoped to hear from your second in command, I apologize.”

“Huh? No, don't apologize.”

“I shouldn't have mentioned it, it isn't pertinent to the conversation.”

Garvey raised an eyebrow, “The conversation where you try convince me the people who want to kill you and everyone like you aren't the bad guys.”

Danse huffed, “While the leader of the self-proclaimed good guys would gladly shoot them out of the sky, starting a war that would surely result in the death of numerous civilians and children.”

Garvey shook his head, “I think the General’s wrong about the Prydwen. It’s the nerve center, if it was taken down then the troops on the ground wouldn’t be much of a threat for long.”

Danse sincerely doubted that fact, but only said, “Perhaps.”

Garvey was quiet for a long moment, thinking. “Are there really kids on board?”

Danse almost smiled at Garvey’s constant concern for civilian lives. It was one trait that made him a bearable leader when Danse first arrived in Sanctuary, and since then had become something he admired. “They’re called Squires. Maxson was one himself, he has a strong fondness for the program and insisted a selection come to the Commonwealth for the experience.”

"A ship-full of tiny Maxsons. Great." Garvey sighed, “I don't want to start a war. And I sure as hell don't want to kill kids. But I stand by what I said.” He stepped forward, perfectly serious, “You're one of us now. An attack on you is an attack on the Minutemen. We aren't going to stand by and let you get killed.”

Danse was again taken aback by the other man’s sincerity. He managed a weak protest, “I wouldn’t ‘let’ myself be killed. I don't actually want to die, Garvey.”

“You know what I mean.” He looked at Danse carefully then, a knowing expression on his face that made Danse shift, unnerved. “Is that the first time you've said that?”

“What?”

Garvey's lips pressed into a line, “Tell me to fuck off and you're totally in the right, but... since you found out you're a synth, is that the first time you've said you don't want to die?”

Danse didn't say anything for a very long time. “I suppose it is.”

Another silence, Garvey thinking. “There’s something I want to tell you, but you’re going to have to bear with me for a bit, ok?”

Danse listened intently as Garvey described the fall of the Minutemen, the massacre of a town called Quincy, the deaths of almost every survivor under his care despite his best efforts. One soldier to protect twenty civilians? It was amazing even five had survived the trip to Sanctuary. More amazing was that Garvey still believed in the ideals he’d joined with. It hadn’t been charity that had destroyed the Minutemen, as Danse had always assumed. It had been pride, and greed.

“I didn't want to die,” Garvey said, reaching his point, “but I stopped caring if I lived or not. Then the General came along. And we found Sanctuary, started rebuilding, and things got better. What you've done here… it's amazing what you’re doing with the troops. I guess it's kind of ironic, but with you in charge of training, I think in a year or so the Minutemen could take on the Brotherhood without question. And… and you've been a big help to me.”

“To you?”

“Yeah. This is what I wanted to tell you, and I wanted you to know where I’m coming from. After everything… I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but it’s been good to have someone I can ask for advice, even if it’s not as often as I probably should. To know someone’s got my back, even if we disagree. You’re…” he sighed, “you’re a good guy, Danse, and I haven’t always been as welcoming as I should have been.”

It was the last thing Danse expected to hear. “Everyone here has shown me far greater hospitality than I expected, including you. Perhaps especially you.” He grinned, “Particularly after the first week.”

Garvey laughed, “Ha! Yeah. That was a hell of a week.”

“I’ve never seen you angry since then.”

“It takes a lot to make me shout at someone. But I was out of line that time -”

“Ridiculous, your behavior was perfectly understandable. I was… how did you put it… 'being an argumentative son of a bitch?'”

“Heh, yeah.” He paused, puzzled, “How did we get to talking about this?”

“A convoluted conversational path concerning your incredulity regarding my refusal to view my former home as pure evil, leading to a discussion of my worth as a person.”

“Right,” he said, amused. “Well. Glad we had this talk.”

“Yes." He watched Garvey make it halfway out the door before he stopped him. "Garvey!”

Garvey turned, “Hm?”

“Thank you. I'm... glad, to be one of you, even if you have to remind me now and then.”

Garvey smiled. “You’re welcome.”


	3. Late Night Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston goes for a walk after having a nightmare.

Preston woke with a shout. He shivered, the nightmare passing as he scanned the dark room. The bed across the room was empty - Sturges had gone over to Curie’s lab after supper and hadn’t come back. At least Preston didn’t have to worry about waking him. It was one reason they roomed together; Sturges already knew all about Preston’s nightmares. He’d been there.

He stood up, shrugged on his coat and put his hat on. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but most of the people who had overnight guard duty had seen him go for a late night walk at least once or twice by now. Somehow he’d been lucky enough to sleep through the nights Danse was on duty.

Tonight, his luck ran out. “Garvey? You’re up late.”

Preston turned and saw Danse walking toward him, on the same patrol circuit Preston usually made. “So are you.”

“I’m on duty.”

Preston flinched. Of course he was. “Right. Um. I’ll just stay out of your way, then.” He turned and hurried back toward his room. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pull rank and be authoritative right now, not with the memory fresh in his head. He heard heavy pounding, something huge charging him, he hadn’t grabbed his laser musket what the hell had he been thinking - 

“Colonel, wait.” Power armor. Preston took a deep breath, berating himself. Just Danse running in power armor. “I apologize,” Danse said.

Preston blinked, slowly turning to face him. “... for what?”

“I didn't mean to challenge you; I was concerned.”

Preston sighed, “I didn’t think you were challenging, I’m… I’m just gonna grab my musket and then go for a walk around town.” 

Danse’s head tilted slightly. It was a little like the thing the General did sometimes, when you knew he was seeing straight through you. “I may be speaking out of turn, but you aren't the only one who has trouble sleeping.”

“… just need to walk, Danse.”

Danse smiled, a little. “Secure the perimeter?”

“Yeah. Not that I don't think you've got it handled, just -”

“Need to see for yourself.”

“… yeah.”

“I understand.”

Preston let go of the tension he’d been holding in a long exhale, smiling a little. “I guess you do.”

Weapon in hand, he slipped into a slow stroll along his usual patrol route. Everything was quiet, just as it should be. Danse had everything well in hand, but this wasn’t about being safe, it was about settling his thoughts and making the feeling that he should have done more go away, just for a little while.

Sturges kept telling him he should talk about it, kept trying to get him to accept there was nothing anyone could have done. Preston knew that he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. The nightmares still happened.

Danse was walking toward him… they were patrolling in opposite directions. Well, he’d said he was on duty. That man sure as hell wasn’t going to stop doing his job just because Preston was awake. Danse stopped, and waited for Preston to reach him. “Colonel?”

Preston smirked. The first week they met, he’d been nothing but ‘Garvey.’ Preston appreciated the implied respect that came with ‘Colonel,’ but he almost preferred Garvey. His first name was apparently out of the question. “Danse?”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure…” Preston said, wary.

Danse was quiet a moment before he said, “Does it help?”

“Does what help?”

“Walking. Does it help - I’m sorry for my presumption, but does it help the nightmare to fade?”

“Most of the time.” Preston hesitated, then carefully ventured, “What do you do?”

Danse was surprised, and reluctant, but said, “One of the doctors in the Brotherhood once suggested I try changing the nightmare, playing the new version over and over in my head before attempting to go back to sleep.”

“Does it help?”

“The occurrences seem to have lessened, but I haven’t any idea if the treatment is to thank for that. The nightmare’s still as vivid as ever. Of course,” he finished with wry humor, “you’re actually human, so you may have more success. For all I know, synth psychological treatment would require the physical reconstruction of my brain.”

“I doubt that,” Preston grinned.

A slight hesitation this time before he asked, “Is it the massacre you told me about?”

“Yeah,” Preston nodded with a heavy sigh. “I’ve seen a lot of bad things, but I still have nightmares about Quincy. Guess I probably always will. I just have to keep trying to succeed where the old Minutemen failed, and hope it’s enough.”

“It won’t be.”

“What?” Every doubt he’d ever had about Danse flared up in his mind, “I’m prepared to lay down my life for these people -”

“Garvey, wait, that was poorly stated and I apologize, but I meant it’s not enough if you’re the only one trying.” Preston frowned, still defiant, but a bit mollified that at least it hadn’t been meant as an insult. “You can’t save the world by yourself, Garvey,” Danse continued. “No one expects you to.”

Preston took a breath, the anger fading. What had he been thinking? Danse had proven himself as dedicated to the cause as any other Minuteman. All this time, and he was still expecting the Minutemen to fall apart under his feet at any minute, just like before. “It’s a good thing I’ve got you, then.”

Danse smiled. “And a small army of Minutemen at your command, not to mention General Holmes.”

“Yeah, them too,” Preston felt his face warm. “So what’s your nightmare?”

It was unsettling, the way Danse’s emotions could shut down like that. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

Preston internally cursed. He was goddamn eloquent tonight, wasn’t he? “Sure, of course.” The friendly atmosphere had completely vanished. Preston was more upset about that than he thought he would be. “Well. Thanks for talking, Danse. I’m headed back, try sleeping again.”

He walked a couple steps before Danse stopped him, “Garvey?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t now, but... ask again, another time.”

Preston smiled, oddly reassured. “Ok.”

Danse’s smile was small, but there. “Good luck sleeping, Colonel.”

“Same to you, Lt. Colonel.”

 

Preston did manage to sleep again, though he woke with some mild confusion as to why a suit of power armor had been in his dream.


	4. R & R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a raider attack, Danse is worried about an injured Preston and Preston sees Danse without his armor for the first time. This is just fluff with a tiny bit of character development.

“Lieutenant Colonel, I cannot properly assess your health if you cannot focus on what I ask.” Danse looked up at Curie, standing in front of where he sat in her clinic with a small frown on her face. “You suffered a heavy blow to the head; it is imperative that you pay attention.”

He took a breath, and focused. “Sorry.”

She tsked once, her frown turning to a gentle smile, “Do not apologize. We are all worried about the Colonel, no?” She examined him for any signs of a concussion, and then insisted on a quick physical exam. “You are the only person in Sanctuary I do not have a file for.”

“Why?”

She blushed, “It… never seemed an opportune moment to ask.”

“You mean you were too intimidated.”

“I worry that I offend people without knowing sometimes,” she defended, “I very much do not want to offend you.”

Danse was surprised. “I'll… tell you if you do.”

She smiled, “ _Merci_. Now, Lt. Colonel, if you would stand, _si vous plais_.”

He stood, puzzled, “See what?”

“It means ‘please,’” she giggled.

“Oh. And… mercy?”

“ _Merci_ is ‘thank you.’ The language is French, from the country of France.”

He filed that away, and tried not to think about the reason why she knew foreign languages. “Hm. You're welcome.”

The physical went quickly; Danse was impressed with Curie’s efficiency. “You are a model patient, Lt. Col. Danse,” she said, “and appear to be in perfect health apart from the bruises and strains expected from intense physical activity.”

“Excellent. Then I'll return to duty.”

“Ah." She hesitated slightly, "If possible, it would be good for you to have a day of rest.”

“Is that an order, doctor?”

Curie smiled, “When was the last time you weren't ‘on duty,’ monsieur?”

He hesitated. “Likely the day before Holmes made me his Lt. Colonel.”

“Then yes. It is the doctor’s orders that you take today to rest.”

“If more raiders come -”

“Do you think that is likely?” It was a serious question, asked with wide eyed innocence.

“I don't expect them to, but I also didn't expect them to have a missile launcher.” Fortunately, the raider’s aim had been atrocious. The first shot had arched over the town, while the second fell woefully short. There hadn't been a third. As far as he knew, the launcher still lay in a pile of red ash on the other side of the river.

“You can leap into the defense of Sanctuary if more arrive. Until then, rest.”

Danse scoffed, then sighed, resigned. “Yes, ma'am.”

 

Preston opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. Everything hurt. He quickly glanced around - he was in his room. In bed, under a blanket… oh. Bandages wrapped around his chest, arm, and leg. Head? He winced. Yep, that too.

Raiders. There had been raiders, coming in from the east as a smaller group tried to cross the river to the south. He'd rallied the Minutemen, taking cover behind a fence as his people fired upon their attackers. Danse had relayed his orders, striding into battle with a confidence Preston envied. Danse held the east, while Preston tackled the smaller group south. He'd heard a missile launch, sailing overhead. He needed to find the person with the launcher, had to take them down first… then Danse shouted something, and Preston turned just in time to see the grenade fall at his feet.

Preston sighed. Distracted by a missile only to be blown up by a grenade. He slowly sat up, and slowly got dressed. He probably shouldn't be moving around much, but he had to see Sanctuary, had to see what had been damaged and who the injured were.

“At least it's not raining,” he muttered, and stepped outside.

The damage wasn't bad at all. Sturges had already organized repair crews for the few houses that needed it and the turrets that had been damaged. The clang of a hammer on metal and the blast of a blowtorch grabbed his attention. It was coming from Danse's house.

Preston wandered over and saw the X-01 suit hanging from its repair station, its frame open to grant access to the inner workings. Danse knelt next to it, an array of tools laid out beside him as he made some sort of adjustment to the left leg. He was wearing a pale blue mechanic’s jumpsuit with a red stripe around the waist, a Red Rocket logo on the left-hand breast pocket.

He glanced up, and grinned. “Colonel. Has Curie given you a clean bill of health?”

“Haven't seen her yet. What are you doing?”

He stood, wiping his hands on a dishrag as he came closer to Preston. “R&R, doctor's orders. I didn't know what else to do with myself, so I'm working on some modifications that should improve performance."

"Oh. How's it going?"

Danse was pleased. "I'm no Proctor Ingram, but I believe it's going very well. I've already maximized the energy efficiency, though I'm not as familiar with the X-01 model as the T-60s the Brotherhood favors, so… what?”

Preston realized he'd been staring, a small smile on his face. “Nothing. Just… glad to see you in a good mood.”

Danse smirked, “It isn't that rare an occurrence, is it?”

“Not like this.” Preston had never seen Danse without his armor before. He'd sort of assumed the suit was compensating for something. He'd also completely underestimated the Brotherhood of Steel’s training regimen. Without the armor, Danse was only an inch or so taller than Preston, but broad shouldered and just enough of a waist to keep him from being a rectangular block. The jumpsuit didn't quite fit, sitting snug across his chest and… “You don't often treat yourself to downtime,” he said, firmly bringing his gaze up and praying Danse hadn't noticed. “What are you wearing, anyway?” 

Danse surveyed the jumpsuit with a resigned shrug. “I couldn't wear my Brotherhood uniform, now could I? This was available, and functional.”

“And bright,” Preston grinned.

Danse rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “How is your arm?”

“Bit stiff.”

“And the leg?”

“Same as the arm. And before you ask, I'm not coughing up blood, my vision is perfect, and I have enough appetite to eat something.”

“Outstanding. Sounds like a full recovery. You should still report to Curie to be certain.”

Preston chuckled, “Yes, sir.”

Danse was a bit embarrassed, “I'm concerned. You suffered a great deal of damage-”

“I'm joking, of course I'll see Curie.” Preston sighed, “This definitely was not one of my better moments.”

Danse’s brow furrowed. “You were thrown by a grenade.”

“I know. It still hurts.”

“I mean you should not be reprimanding yourself for something you had no control over. Even if you'd seen the toss, it was too close to effectively dodge.”

Well at least there was that. “Still, can't be much help if I'm out cold or laid up.”

“Garvey.” Danse frowned, and Preston had an idea what the recruits felt like when they tried to get away with something they shouldn't have. “Exactly how much does it still hurt?”

“I told you, I'm fine.”

“I am not being argumentative.” He took a step closer, perfectly serious. “You are a capable commander on the battlefield and a compassionate leader. I would rather see you on your feet in full health in a few days than walking around at only half of your best now.”

Preston didn't think Danse had ever stood this close to him before. He smelled of sweat and grease, and that shouldn't have been as good a combination as it was. A black smudge on his right temple almost blended in with his unusually messy hair. Seeing Danse act like something other than an eloquent tank was… “Did you just compliment me?”

He smiled, “I did.”

“Huh. I better go see Curie right away,” Preston turned, “I'm hallucinating.”

Danse laughed. It wasn't much, but it was definitely a laugh. As he walked away, Preston couldn't keep his smile off his face.


	5. Fraternization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston's been under a lot of stress lately. Danse decides to help with that. And now this collection is rated 'E.'

Preston sat on the ancient picnic bench with a heavy sigh. The General was on an island to the north somewhere, something about a runaway girl and a colony of synths. He'd left his Colonel in charge of the Minutemen while he was gone. Preston was flattered that Holmes was so confident everything would be fine. Preston was also convinced Holmes had been completely, utterly wrong.

At least it was a clear night, the full moon’s reflection in the river concealed by the shadow of the water purifier. Sanctuary was a gentle bustle of laughter and lantern light behind him, everyone heading home after supper at the mess hall. Heavy footsteps and servos whirring signalled he was about to have company.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

Preston groaned, face in his hand, “Can I not be Colonel for a night? Just Garvey… or hell you could call me Preston like everyone else, that would be a change.”

He looked up and saw Danse looking down at him, an eyebrow raised. “Is the burden of command too much to bear this evening?” 

“Are you trying to be funny or are you mocking me?”

Danse blinked, startled. “A couple of months ago, I likely would have been mocking you,” he admitted. “Not tonight.”

He was serious. Preston deflated, feeling ridiculous. “Sorry. I'm worried.”

“Obviously. I don't understand why you should be.”

“Seriously?”

“Everything has gone well, yet you've been under a great deal of stress since Holmes left the Commonwealth.” Danse paused, “Actually, you've been under a great deal of stress for some time.”

Preston scoffed, “No kidding. I've always been able to take orders a lot better than I give them.”

“That’s not true. I've seen you lead your men through a firefight. I imagine it wasn't Holmes giving battlefield orders when the Minutemen invaded the Institute. You wouldn't have gained my respect if you were a poor commanding officer, Garvey.”

Preston smiled a little. “Thanks. I know you wouldn't say that if you didn't mean it. I try my best, but I can't stop thinking that one day my best isn't going to be good enough.” 

“Garvey, when was the last time you weren't on duty?”

Preston thought for a bit, then smirked, “When I was laid up after the raider attack.”

Danse made a disapproving sound, “Medical leave doesn't qualify as rest.”

“The only reason you were off duty for a day is because Curie ordered you to be.”

“The only reason she hasn't ordered you to do the same is because you avoid the topics of stress and exhaustion like a plague. Everyone knows you've been overworking yourself since Holmes left, but no one has been willing to confront you about it.”

Preston started to protest, and laughed a little instead, “Mama Murphy did. Earlier tonight she said that if I won't do chems, then I need to either get drunk or get laid.”

Danse smirked, “With all due respect, you are doing a terrible job at either.”

Preston grinned. “Can't bring myself to get drunk when I'm in charge.”

“Your sense of responsibility is admirable, but I suspect mild intoxication would be permissible for one night.”

“The General left me in charge, I can't… where are you going?”

Danse headed back toward the mess hall, calling over his shoulder, “I'll be right back.” He returned with a bottle of beer in each hand. “Nash and Sturges are on guard duty and have been informed of our location and intention. They'll find us the instant we're needed.”

“Us?”

“You shouldn't drink alone, Garvey.”

“I can't tell if you're making fun of me or being serious.”

Danse grinned, just a little. “A bit of both. Hold these a moment.” He handed the beers to Preston and opened his armor. He stepped out to reveal a tattered white t-shirt and rough jeans. Preston handed him a beer as he sat down on the bench beside him. “Thank you.”

Preston smiled, amused, “I don't know what sort of insubordination this is, but I'm sure I'll think of something.”

Danse scoffed, and joked, “Apologies in advance, sir.”

They drank. Preston had to admit, it had been a long time since he'd just sat down and had a beer. “T-shirt and jeans?” he asked, both curious and making small talk.

Danse shrugged, “It's what I could find, apart from that mechanic’s jumpsuit.” He shifted uncomfortably, “Still feels strange, not wearing a uniform.”

“I bet. I can't remember the last time I wasn't in uniform. We should get you one. I never thought of it because you're always in armor.”

Danse nodded, “I'd like that. Thank you.”

“Why the armor, anyway? I know you're used to it, but don't you ever want to get out of it?”

“I'm out of it now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“By the time I came to the Commonwealth, the only occasions I left my armor were to sleep, bathe, or make repairs.”

“But why?”

“It was practical. I wanted to be prepared for anything… and I preferred it. Perhaps it’s because I’m a machine, but I always felt more at ease inside a suit of armor than out. It was a symbol of a… a family. The Brotherhood of Steel was my armor, my support, and the suit was a manifestation of that.” He surveyed Preston, hat to boots, “Do you ever get tired of wearing that coat?”

Preston chuckled, “Nope. Guess it's similar, just something being so ingrained, belonging to something. So… why'd you get out of your armor now?”

“To emphasize that we are not on duty.”

Preston’s brow rose. “You got out of armor, something that makes you uncomfortable, because you thought I'd relax more.”

Danse shrugged, “Essentially.”

“That's dumb.”

“Is it working?”

Preston looked at the river, “Shut up.”

Danse smiled, “If drinking with me isn't satisfactory, you could always take Murphy’s other suggestion and get laid instead.”

Preston choked on his beer, “Ha. Pretty sure that takes at least one other person.”

“I'm sure you could find someone in town who would be happy to oblige.”

“Yeah,” Preston made a face. “Don't really want that. I mean, I've done it before, but that was years ago and after everything that happened… I don't know. I guess there's not a good reason for it, just… I'd like it if I at least knew the person, beyond just a name and face.”

“That's still more than half the people here.”

“Most of those are under my command, and the rest are already taken.”

“Ah. Yes, I often had to limit my personal engagement with subordinate officers. Fraternization might be construed as favoritism, not to mention the potential for unintentional abuses of my position it presented.”

Preston stared at him a moment. “Right, all of that.”

“It's shocking no one suspected I'm a synth before,” Danse dryly stated.

Preston laughed, “You do have a hell of a vocabulary, man.” Danse rolled his eyes with a smile, and they settled into a comfortable silence watching the river. “I'm glad you've been joking about it. Being a synth.”

“Mm. Only with you.”

Preston looked at him, “What?”

Danse watched the river. “It rarely comes up with anyone else… I rarely bring it up. I’ve accepted that it’s what I am, that beyond a certain point none of my memories are truly my own, that I was built in a lab instead of born…” he took a large swallow of beer, “… but every day I expect to be challenged, that someone will demand to know why a machine should be in command over anyone rather than being commanded. It hasn’t happened yet, but the tension is always there in the back of my mind.”

Preston was thunderstruck. “You should be in command because you earned it. The General trusted you and I trust you.” He’d never said that before, but it was true.

Danse glanced at him, subdued, “Thank you.”

A long pause passed. Danse kept his gaze forward. He wasn’t sure why he’d opened up like that… no, that was a lie. Of all the people here, Garvey was the one he trusted most not only not to judge, but to be honest with him as well. Danse had been telling the truth when he said he respected him, and he knew Garvey had been the same when he said he trusted Danse. They’d been at each other’s throats when they first met, but now…

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. “What are you doing?”

Preston had removed his scarf, folding it up onto the table behind them and setting his hat on top of it. Now he stood, “Emphasizing that I'm not on duty.” With a flourish, the coat joined the hat and scarf, draped across the picnic table. Preston paused, awkward. “Yeah, that feels really weird.”

Danse laughed. He appreciated the gesture… and to be honest he appreciated the new view. Preston stood in a purple vest over a white button shirt, his tight black curls short against his head, his frame in no way diminished by the lack of an overcoat. They were similarly built, he and Danse, though Preston’s waist was narrower…

Preston watched Danse look at him, a small impressed expression on his face, and tried not to be pleased. Danse was surprisingly pleased to see Preston shyly smile. Preston sat down again, close enough that they were touching. Danse didn’t move away.

Preston finished the last swallow of his beer. “I'm glad the General brought you here.”

“So am I.”

“Another round?”

“Sure.” 

Neither of them had any interest in another beer. Preston ventured a glance down Danse’s body, embarrassed to find the other man watching him intently.

“I guess one of us is going to have to go…” Danse was kissing him, firm, a calloused palm on the side of Preston’s face. “… oh.”

Danse moved back as if burned, “I overstepped, that was -” 

Preston pulled him back, kissing harder. Danse didn't have any more second thoughts, pulling Preston close, tongue seeking the other. Preston eagerly welcomed the attention, the chance to just let go of all the responsibility, the guilt, the nightmares… fuck, just let me feel good just let me make  _ him _ feel good, please… 

Danse grabbed him by the waist, pulling him over to straddle his lap.

Preston ground against him, “What did you say about fraternization?

“The Minutemen aren't the Brotherhood,” Danse grunted, a hand on Preston’s tight ass as the other hand worked the buttons of his vest and shirt. “My respect for you as a commanding officer isn’t going to change,” his hips writhed as he sucked on Preston’s collarbone, “and I expect you to treat me exactly the same when we’re in uniform.”

“Good,” Preston breathed, his hands fumbling with the stiff zipper of Danse's jeans,  “because I really want to blow you right now.”

Danse opened his pants, the thought that they shouldn't be doing this out in the open flitting briefly through his head as he watched Preston slide to the ground between his knees… … and then he didn't think of much else.

He at least had a shred of control enough to swallow the loud moan that threatened, turning it into a coarse hiss of a whisper, “Holy shit, Garvey….”

Preston released him to mutter, “Sure taste human,” before taking him back into his mouth.

Danse laughed, short and softly groaning as Preston’s tongue undulated. “Fuck,” Danse breathed, his hand on the back of Preston’s head. Preston moaned a little at the pressure, and Danse’s arousal surged.

“Your mouth feels amazing… fucking outstanding…” Preston’s laugh was muffled, too busy to stop. He was bringing Danse to orgasm with military efficiency, something Danse definitely wasn't going to complain about, but he wanted to hear that sound again, that moan. He clenched his hand in Preston's hair and watched him writhe, just a little, just enough. Oh the things he could do… … vanished in a haze of white as Danse came.

Preston sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Definitely taste human.”

Danse shook his head with a smile, and pulled Preston forward into a kiss. “The mission was to help you relax, not me,” he accused.

Preston shrugged, ridiculously pleased with himself. “I am relaxed. That was fun.”

“Unacceptable. Meet me in my quarters immediately.”

Preston shivered, “Yes, sir.”

Danse climbed back into his armor as Preston hastily threw his coat and hat back on to follow, scarf in hand. His shirt was still undone. If by some miracle no one had heard or seen what just happened, there'd be no doubt as to what was going on if he was spotted.

It seemed like he should care more about that than he actually did. Instead, his attention was completely on the man inside the armor striding in front of him. Preston hurried inside the house while Danse secured his armor in its station. Danse found him in the bedroom, his vest discarded along with the coat, scarf, and hat in a pile on top of the wooden crate at the foot of the bed. Preston's back was to the door. Danse watched silently as Preston’s shirt joined the pile.

Preston jumped in surprise at Danse's hands on his hips, pulling him backward.

“Did I startle you?”

“You move a lot quieter when you aren't in armor.”

Preston felt Danse's smile, his head rolling back as lips and teeth marked out a path along his neck. Danse had removed his shirt, skin hot against Preston’s. Preston grunted as Danse's hand opened his pants and slipped inside his briefs, “Oh, fuck…”

Danse turned him around, kissing him hard, hands working cloth down and away, stroking Preston's cock as Preston moaned into his mouth. “On the bed,” he ordered with an eagerness that made Preston shake.

Preston kicked off his pants from around his ankles and scrambled onto the bed, clutching the mattress in surprise as he was thrust into his back, knees spread, hips lifted just enough for Danse to work a bruise onto Preston’s inner thigh with his teeth.

“Fuck!” Preston groaned, torn between pulling away and asking for more. 

Danse grinned, “Hands above your head.”

Preston complied with an amazed expression, and Danse lathed his balls with his tongue. “Oh shit!” His whole body jerked, hands somehow managing to stay put.

Danse paused, a moment of concern, “Are you alright?”

Preston nodded, “Yeah. Just surprised - oh fuck Danse!” His back arched as Danse placed an identical bruise on the other thigh. 

“Don't move,” Danse said as he stripped his pants off, tossing them to some corner of the room. Suddenly Danse was on top of him, a gentle hand on his chin forcing Preston to meet his eyes. They were light brown. “If you ever want to stop, tell me and I will.”

Preston nodded, certain that was true, and doubtful he'd ever tell Danse to stop. “Ok.” 

With a small smile, Danse began kissing all the way down Preston's body. Preston gasped as Danse lingered on each nipple, pain and ecstasy blended together with a pinch of teeth on tender flesh, “Danse -” he groaned in pleasure as Danse sucked on the tip of his cock, turning into a whimper as Danse cupped Preston’s balls, playing as he teased Preston's cock with his tongue. Fingertips toyed with the edge of his asshole, threatening to push inside, setting all Preston's nerves on fire. His hips moved desperately, earning him another hungry grin from Danse. A finger pressed, just the very tip slipping in, and Preston’s hips bucked with a groan. 

“Next time I'll make sure I have oil on hand,” Danse practically growled.

Preston barely registered the promise of a next time, only reacting to how badly he wanted Danse inside him, “Yes…” he started to bring his hands down, but caught himself, keeping them above his head.

“Good self control,” Danse grinned.

Preston frowned through a gasp for air, “Mocking me again…”

“No.” Danse was up close then, worry on his face a moment before he kissed Preston, deep and strangely tender as his hand kept teasing Preston's ass. “I mean it.” Preston could feel his precum pooling on his stomach as Danse kept pushing him closer to the edge and kept holding him back, “Where do you want to put them?”

“Cock…” he groaned as Danse's hand firmly wrapped around him. He managed to shake his head, thoughts scattered, “Not mine yours… make you feel good want you to feel…”

“You're doing that already,” he kissed him as he started to pump his hand up and down, “lying there writhing for me. Can't wait to see what you look like when you cum.”

The pace increased, “More," Preston begged, "almost… fuck, Danse…”

Danse's breath was warm on his ear, “Come on, cum. Cum for me, please…”

And Preston came. 

“… holy shit…”

Danse smiled. “That was exhilarating.”

Preston laughed, breathless. “Hell of a vocabulary." It was insane. He'd just... holy shit. "Can I move my arms now?” 

Danse chuckled, “Please do.”

Preston’s arms wrapped around Danse's shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. “Thanks.”

Danse blinked, perhaps surprised. “You're welcome. Thank you.”

“Guess we should clean up.”

Danse nodded, his usual reserve falling back into place despite the fact that he was still naked on top of his commanding officer. “If it is more convenient for you, you are welcome to stay tonight.”

Preston blinked. “Not that far a walk back to my place.”

“I realize that. I… thought I should offer.”

Preston ran a hand through Danse's hair, and nodded. Of everything that had happened tonight, this surprised him most. “I think I will. Thanks.”

Danse smiled, small and content, and then the soldier was back. “There are a few bottles of purified water, soap, and a washcloth in the next room,” he said as he stood, leading the way. Preston watched a moment before standing with a stretch and joining him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at writing a third person sex scene. I worry it’s too matter-of-fact, but at the same time it’s not supposed to be at all sentimental. I may try rewriting it, I don’t know. Any feedback you have is welcome!


	6. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse tells Preston a little bit about his nightmares.

Preston tried not to laugh. It would be disrespectful. He was acting as commanding officer of the army, the commanding officer didn’t laugh at the troops in training.

“Aim towards the enemy,” Danse lectured as he made his way down the line. “You laugh, but you would be surprised how many new recruits have problems with that simple concept, particularly in the heat of battle.”

Most of them had smirked and stifled the urge, but no one had dared laugh. Preston, on the other hand, was having a hell of a time keeping his smile under control. He knew Danse was right; he’d seen plenty of young men and women panic and start firing at anyone they saw, especially when facing large numbers of opponents. Keeping a cool head was essential to staying alive. Still, there was something about the way Danse phrased it, or maybe it was just his deadpan delivery, that made it funny.

“Don’t draw fire; it irritates the people around you.”

… damn it, he was trying to make him laugh, wasn’t he?

“If your attack is going too well, you’re probably walking into an ambush.” Preston choked, coughing. Danse pretended not to notice, “But the most important piece of advice I can give you, is never tell your commanding officer you have nothing to do.”

There were open chuckles at that one. Danse smiled, in that small way of his. “I expect to see you all here tomorrow morning, in full uniform and prepared to train. The mess opens shortly past dawn. Training will commence after breakfast. Do not be late. Dismissed.”

They filed out, each one offering a “Hello, Colonel,” until only Danse was left. He walked up after the last one had left the grounds. “You found that entertaining.”

“Come on, man. Don’t draw fire? Aim at the enemy?”

“All basic concepts that should not be taken for granted,” he said, perfectly serious… and then he grinned. “Was there a reason for your visit, or were you assessing the latest batch?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Danse was surprised. “About?”

“You’ve been taking extra watch shifts.”

“I don’t believe I need as much sleep as humans, I may as well take advantage of it.”

Preston shook his head, “You don’t know that for certain, and I don’t think that’s the reason.” Danse frowned, pensive. Preston continued, “You’re fine today, but you’ve been standoffish, too. More than usual.”

Danse scoffed, but sighed. “I may have been a bit restless recently.”

“Going stir crazy, you mean?”

“It does become… frustrating, knowing I’ll never leave.”

“I’d send you on missions if I could, but we can’t risk the Brotherhood finding out you’re alive.”

“I know. I'll make do, Colonel, and I'll try to be aware of my… standoffish tendencies.”

Preston smiled, “Thanks. And get some sleep tonight, that’s an order.”

***

Preston answered the pounding on his door, “Jun? Oh, sorry, man, did I oversleep?”

Jun shook his head, “Not your turn for watch yet, I just, um, I think you should go see Danse.”

Preston grabbed his coat and hat, putting them on as he hurried out the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nightmare, sounds like. Bad one.” Jun hesitated, “Really bad.”

Preston walked faster. He could hear talking coming from the bedroom, muttered words. Preston’s heart twisted to hear a whimpered beg, “Please, stop…”

He hurried to the side of the bed. Danse’s body jerked, like it was trying to toss and turn but was held down by invisible straps. Then he screamed.

Preston was on his knees, hands on Danse's shoulders, “Danse, wake up!”

Danse violently bolted upright, arms swinging, sending Preston backward. “No, stop-!” he froze, eyes open but confused, and slowly focused. “Garvey?” Danse grabbed Preston's shoulders, reassuring himself that the man in front of him was real. His hands fell away as Danse studied the floor with an embarrassed huff, “I'm sorry -”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Danse looked at him, puzzled, “You're patrolling?”

Preston shrugged, “Not exactly. Jun was on guard duty. Said you sounded bad.”

Danse groaned, covering his face with his hand, “Does everyone in Sanctuary know I have nightmares?”

Preston smiled, “Hell man, everyone in Sanctuary has nightmares. Yours are just more frequent and much more terrifying.”

Danse glanced at him with a slight smirk, and sighed deeply.

Worried, Preston slowly held his hand. “You ok?” Danse nodded, eyes averted, but his hand tightened around Preston's. “Can I ask this time?”

Danse smiled grimly, “Maxson was taking me apart. I was all circuitry inside.”

Preston blinked. No wonder he'd screamed. “Holy shit. Is that what usually -”

“No.” Danse took a breath, his words monotone, “That was new. Usually I'm either killing my closest friend, or watching my men die in a variety of ways.”

“Killing your friend?”

Danse nodded once, hesitant. “His name was Cutler. He disappeared on recon in the Capital Wasteland. I found him in a super mutant hive. He'd been exposed to the F.E.V. The bastards turned him into one of them. So I killed him, and all the rest.”

Preston was at a loss. “… damn. And I thought Quincy was bad.”

Danse shook his head, “It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, and tonight was worse than usual because I wasn’t expecting it. My own traumatic experiences are not in any way more or less significant than yours.”

“I know,” Preston smiled a little, “I was trying to sympathize.”

Danse winced. “I’m… not at my best, right now.”

“That’s ok. Seriously.” He watched Danse shakily breathe, his gaze firmly fixed on his other hand. Preston gave the hand he was holding a gentle squeeze, “Still flesh and blood.”

Danse was quiet, “It isn’t real.”

“Huh, feels pretty damn real to me,” Preston quipped. “So does the rest of you, for that matter.”

Danse’s small smile became a soft, brief laugh that trailed off as he pulled his gaze away from himself and toward the ceiling. He took a deep breath, and seemed calmer. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to stay?”

“If Jun’s on duty, then you're on duty next.”

“You have the whole schedule memorized, don't you.” It wasn’t a question.

Danse was mildly surprised. “You don't?”

Preston rolled his eyes, “I wrote it down. I could ask -”

“No,” Danse was firm, but he was smiling, “I won't have you shirking your duty or making concessions for my sake. I'm fine.”

“I could come back when I'm done.”

“Your shift ends with dawn, at which point I'll be up and headed to the mess hall.”

Preston sighed, “Shit. Well…”

“Garvey.” Danse gave him the same look he gave recruits who were well-meaning but ridiculous.

Preston knew he was right. He had a job to do, and Danse was going to be ok. He couldn’t start changing things just because he was worried about his friend. “Ok. But the next time I tell you to get more sleep, tell me to fuck off.”

Danse smiled, “That would be disrespectful behavior toward a superior officer. You were right to be concerned. I’ll see you at breakfast.”


	7. Second Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short domestic scene from Valentine's perspective, post-Far Harbor. School bullies are the worst.

Holmes was out of town with Dogmeat, performing his duties as General of the Minutemen. The reluctant leader had felt guilty about neglecting them, despite the fact he’d been outside the Commonwealth, but also hadn’t wanted to leave Shaun for an extended period of time again so soon after getting back from Far Harbor.

So Nick had stayed behind. Promised he’d watch Shaun, and the look Holmes had given him would have made his heart flip if he’d had one. His partner knew how much Nick hated to see him go off alone. Didn’t make sense, Holmes had been getting along in the Commonwealth without Nick before, but he’d almost always had someone else with him to watch his back. And damn it, things were different now. 

But Holmes needed to go, and Shaun needed a dad around. That was a role the old synth didn’t have much practice at, didn’t even have the old Nick Valentine’s memories to guide him on this one, but it had been Shaun’s idea to call him a second dad in the first place so he must have done something right.

Ellie practically kicked him out the door before school let out. “Go spend some time with your son,” she said with a grin. “I know where to find you if something comes up.”

“Given the boot from my own office,” he feigned offense. “I hope this isn't gonna be a pattern with you.”

“Get out of here, detective,” she laughed, “tell Shaun I say hi.”

And now he was sitting on the sofa in Holmes’s - Holmes and  _ his _ \- house. Codsworth was in the market, and Nick could hear his gears and sprockets whirring in the silence. How the hell was he supposed to be a dad to this kid?

When Shaun walked through the door, all Nick’s doubts were replaced with panic, and a strange urge to punch someone.

He rushed over before he realized it, “What the… what happened?!”

Shaun put his book on the table and tried to hide his black eye. “Um. There was a fight.”

Nick frowned, “A fight.”

Shaun shifted uncomfortably, and looked anywhere that wasn’t at Nick, “Yeah.”

“Why?” The ten-year-old mumbled something incoherent. “I’m old, Shaun, speak up.”

The mumbling started again, something about one of the kids at school, but the last three words were clear, “- weren’t my dad.” A tense, shocked silence settled for a moment before Shaun took a deep breath and finished, “He said you couldn’t love me, and if Dad loves you then he doesn’t love me either.”

Nick sighed, and slowly knelt down in front of Shaun, “Oh, kid.”

“It’s not true,” Shaun still wouldn’t look at him, “It’s not true and I got angry and…”

Nick held an arm out, “C’mere.” Shaun hugged him tight, bringing a smile to the old synth’s face despite his sad frustration. Why did people, especially kids, feel the need to just be mean? “You’re right, it’s not true at all. You’re probably gonna hear a whole lot of nasty things said about us. I’m sorry for that. But all we can do is ignore it, and show them how wrong they are.” He pulled Shaun up just enough to look him eye to eye. “Your dad went through hell and back for you. He loves you, and don't you ever doubt it.”

Shaun nodded, and wiped his eyes with his arm, “You too?”

Funny how much that felt like being whacked in the gut with a shock baton. “Me too. I love your dad, and I love you. You’re my family. Nothing anyone ever says is gonna stop that.”

Shaun hugged him again, and Nick held tight.

“I hear something grinding inside that shouldn’t be.”

Nick chuckled. Hell of a time for something to break down. “Yeah, I feel it.” There were half a dozen things ‘it’ might be, but he didn’t want to worry Shaun with speculating.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, just a bit uncomfortable.”

Shaun stood up straight, “Nick?”

He reluctantly let go, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I got in a fight.”

Right. The fight. “Normally I’d be upset, but in this case? I’m kinda flattered.” A little more stern, he said, “That doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do. Punching other kids isn’t going to change their minds.”

Shaun nodded, “I know.”

“What did your teachers think of this? Seems a man married to an old fashioned robot would have some words to say on the matter.”

Shaun shrugged, “It was after school let out. The guard broke us up and sent us home. And Pete’s parents think Mr. Zwicky is weird.”

“Hmph. Doesn't surprise me.”

“We need to go to Sanctuary so Sturges can fix whatever’s wrong.”

Nick laughed at the serious frown on his son’s (goodness, he was never going to get used to that) face. “Might want to wait for your other dad to get back.”

Shaun frowned, worried, “What if it gets worse by then? You don’t know what’s actually wrong, do you?”

Kid was observant. Must be hereditary. “… well. No, not yet. But Sanctuary’s a long trek. I'll hold up just fine til we hear from Holmes, don't worry. For now, let’s see what you’ve got for homework.”

Shaun sighed, and hugged him again. “Love you.”

Nick smiled, “Love you too, kid.”


	8. Babe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Danse leaves for Diamond City, Preston decides to surprise him. Preston gets a surprise as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's an innuendo for "more Danse/Preston smut."

Danse was heading to Diamond City tomorrow. Preston hadn't been pleased with the idea of Danse leaving Sanctuary. He also didn't have an argument against it, especially not when the General would be travelling with Danse for at least half the way. Danse could have left immediately, he was a soldier and accustomed to sudden departures after all, but he had delayed to give Holmes time to return to Diamond City after visiting settlements. It also gave Preston time to prepare a surprise for the Lt. Colonel.

It was late, but there was still a light going in Danse’s house. Preston knocked and let himself in, “Danse? This an ok time?”

Danse looked out of his bedroom into the hallway, “Garvey. Put out the light will you, I’m just preparing for bed.”

Preston did so, turning the house dark apart from the light in Danse’s room. “Hey, I brought you something for tomorrow…” He froze a moment. Danse was in worn-out jeans, and no shirt. Well, he’d said he was getting ready for bed. “I, uh, hope it fits.”

“Fits?” Danse took the bundle of folded clothes from Preston, confusion turning to smile as he realized what he held. “A uniform.”

Preston shrugged, oddly nervous. “About time, right?”

Danse put the uniform neatly on the small table, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He thought that would be it, that he'd wish him luck and say goodnight, “Don't take any unnecessary chances, tomorrow, ok?”

Danse came close to him, a bit surprised, “Of course.”

Preston swallowed the tightness in his throat. He shouldn't be so worried. “I'd hate to lose a friend, so. Come back to me, alive and well.” He forced a smile, “That's an order.”

Now Danse really was surprised, searching Preston’s face for a moment before smiling softly. “Yes, sir.”

They stood in tense silence for about two seconds before Danse was kissing him, Preston melting against him, trying to hold him close and impatiently undress at the same time.

“Are all these layers strictly necessary?” Danse said, throwing Preston’s coat to the floor as he unwound his scarf.

“Better to be prepared than not,” scarf and vest joined the pile as Danse opened his shirt.

“God, you're gorgeous…” Danse muttered, calloused hand tracing Preston’s chest as he pulled him close, leaning him back as his teeth worked a bruise onto Preston’s collarbone, a dark nipple pinched until Preston writhed. “Pants.” Preston stripped, immediately working Danse’s zipper as he kicked his pants off from around his ankles. Danse grinned, “Eager, Garvey?”

“Yes,” Preston breathed. “Shit, you can’t make fun of how many layers I wear until you start wearing pants with a zipper that doesn’t get stuck.”

Danse laughed. He pulled Preston into a hungry kiss, and easily removed his pants with one hand. Preston groaned at the injustice, but was soon too distracted with Danse’s cock pressing against his to complain.

Danse ground against him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Preston’s world froze. “What?”

Another jerk of Danse’s hips made Preston gasp, Danse’s face close to his, brown eyes so intense, “Oil's in the drawer by the bed. Will you fuck me?”

If he wasn't hard before, he was now. He grabbed the small jar as Danse laid down, “Ok, hang on,” he coated his fingers and set the jar on the table as he slid into bed. Danse's leg was across his waist, his fingers traced circles around the opening, teasing as Danse buried his face in Preston's shoulder with a small moan.

“Oh fuck look at you,” Preston murmured.

Danse's hips hitched, “Now, Preston…”

Preston blinked, “What?

“Now - nh!” Preston hissed a moan as Danse's teeth sank into the spot where Preston's shoulder met his neck as his finger entered. Danse's breath was hot, his voice hoarse, “Damn…”

“You ok?” Preston slowly moved his finger in and out, blood rushing at the mewling sound that came from Danse's throat. Danse nodded into his neck, hand grasping at Preston's back. “Say it again?” Preston quietly begged, “Please?”

“Prestonnnn,” the name devolved into nothing but a long sound as Preston moved a little faster.

“You never call me Preston.”

“You’re… ahh… fuck…”

Preston smiled, “I'm fucking you, so you can drop the formality?”

“Nnh… more…” his hand suddenly clenched in Preston's hair as Preston slid a second finger inside, “Fuck! Damn it… that’s not… yes, but…” 

Preston grinned, scissoring him open, the scrape of Danse's teeth on his skin and the bruise he knew would be on his neck in the morning making his hips buck, their cocks coating each other in precum, “You're not making a lot of sense.”

Danse softly muttered between swears as Preston played, “… you're close… thought you'd appreciate…”

Preston's fingers slowed, stunned, “Oh. Oh, fuck, babe…”

With a sudden grab, Danse rolled onto his back, pulling Preston on top of him, “Now,” he ordered, breath heavy, “Now, need you in me now.”

Preston slid between his legs fast and ready, “Ok… fuck,” and practically leaped out of the bed, “more oil, hang on -”

“Hurry,” Danse growled.

Preston hurried. “Like this, or…?” The hunger on Danse's face as he watched Preston slick his cock sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“Want to watch you, see your face.”

“Ok,” Preston climbed onto the bed, breath leaving him in a hard exhale as Danse pulled his legs up. Preston held his hips still and pressed inside, “Shitshitshitfuck!” Tight warmth pulled him in until he was balls deep in his friend, Danse's back arching as his face contorted with the sensation of being completely penetrated. It was amazing. “You ok?”

“Fuck Yes -” Preston tried a few small thrusts, not wanting to go too fast or too hard right away, “Damn it, Preston, more…” Danse groaned, his frustration clear, “Come on, fuck me!!!”

Caution fled. Preston's fingers dug into Danse's hips as he pulled out and slammed back in hard and fast. Goddamn, the curses that came out of Danse's mouth. “Not gonna last long,” Preston warned.

“Yes you will,” Danse met his eyes, dazed, so beautifully overwhelmed but still ordered with a small grin, “Cum when I cum. Can you do that? Hold back til I cum?”

“Ok…” the response was automatic, but it was a lie. Preston only made it three more thrusts before he was in distress, “Danse,” he whimpered.

Danse smiled, “Almost… doing so well fuck you feel so good…” Preston held back. Fuck it was hard but he wanted to, wanted to make Danse feel good, his praises washing over him, wanted to make Danse feel _everything_ , “Fuck, Preston, cock's so hard, dripping god I'm so close you feel so good in me,” Preston moaned, trying to keep going, “Almost - almost -” 

Danse came. Preston followed with a shout, the world a haze as he collapsed on top of Danse, sticky and hot and he didn't want to move ever again.

“Holy shit.”

“Ad victoriam,” Danse muttered.

Preston choked on a laugh, “What!?”

Danse looked at him with a shit-eating grin, “Means ‘to victory’”

“I know what it means, you…” he shook his head in amazement, “fuck, Danse.”

“You did that already. Mission accomplished.”

Preston laughed and kissed him deep.

“You should have let me clean up before lying down,” Danse said.

Preston shrugged, “Right now, I don't care. Don't want to move.”

“Alright,” Danse kissed him with a small smile. Then an eyebrow rose, “Did you call me ‘babe,’ earlier?”

Preston blushed. “Uh. Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry-”

“No, I… I don’t mind. As long as it remains relegated to our quarters.”

“I don't know, Lt. Col. Babe has a nice ring to it -” Danse punched his shoulder, “- ow!” Preston giggled, “Assaulting a superior officer?”

“Self defense,” Danse grinned, “Sir.”

Preston shifted a little, his head resting on Danse's shoulder, Danse's arm around him. Neither moved for some time.

“I'm coming back,” Danse said, his voice quiet.

“You better.”

“I will,” he promised.

Preston almost believed him.

 

In the morning, Danse eased a sleeping Preston off of him, washed up, and put on his new uniform. It fit well, though the sleeves of the the jacket were damned uncomfortable rolled up like he'd seen on the other Minutemen. He was in armor most of the time anyway, and the practical consideration of keeping sleeves away from the gears of a laser musket handle didn't apply to him. Besides, Garvey was always in that coat. Perhaps long sleeves were a sign of rank.

He decided to accept this rationalization, and stepped outside. He really should wake Garvey - Preston - but he wasn't due for patrol or training until later in the day. He could sleep just a little longer…

Danse froze at the sight of his armor, Sturges asleep where he sat on the ground beside its station, cans of paint to either side.

“What…? Sturges.”

“Oh!” The engineer yawned, “Surprise, Lt. Colonel. Had to get it done overnight while you weren't in it. Like it?”

Danse felt a light brush against the small of his back as Preston joined him outside, still shirtless but fortunately wearing pants. “Well?”

“It's…” he shook off his stunned tenderness, “You did this all last night, Sturges?”

“Yep,” Sturges stretched as he stood. “Told Preston my idea when the General was here, and he said we should make it a surprise. Gotta say, it was kinda hard to work with all the noise,” Sturges grinned.

Preston shifted uncomfortably. “Didn't think of that.”

“Nah, I'm just teasing, boss, I figured that would be the case. Everyone knows.”

Preston's eyes widened, “Everyone?”

Danse smiled, “This is outstanding. Thank you, both of you.”

“Don't put too many scratches on it on the way to the Castle,” Sturges winked.

“I'll do my best,” Danse softly chuckled. Sturges left, muttering something about sleeping sitting up. Danse's hand lightly rested on Preston's, his voice low. “Permission to kiss you?”

Preston smiled, “You don't have to ask permission for that. Apparently, everyone knows.”

“Decorum should still be maintained,” he stated, and lightly kissed him, “however I feel like being close to you right now.”

“Just promise me you'll be careful, babe.”

Danse nodded once, and asked, “What am I supposed to call you?”

“Preston.”

Danse smiled. “I'll be careful, Preston. I promise.”

Preston's hand squeezed his, and they stood together for a still moment.

“On the topic of decorum, you might want to put a shirt on.”

Preston swore, and hurried back into the house.


	9. Baseball - In Honor of The Day The World Ended, and The World Series

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the title says, this is purely a little thing I thought up with the World Series starting today, and it’s the day the world is going to end in 2077, so I’ve had Fallout and baseball on my mind. It is free floating and unconnected to chronology, and 100% rated G.

( _radio static_ )

Voice: Good afternoon, Commonwealth. This is the Voice of the Minutemen, here with the host of Diamond City Radio, Travis Miles.

Travis: Hello, everyone. This is the first ever joint broadcast between Diamond City Radio and Radio Freedom.

Voice: And what a perfect occasion for it, Travis. The first ever honest to goodness baseball game in over 200 years, played with the original, pre-War rules.

Travis: Diamond City residents have devoted time, energy, and resources to constructing the field and stands, small but sturdy, and packed full.

Voice: Travis, it’s a lovely job. We’ve got people here from all over the Commonwealth. I see a small contingent from Goodneighbor, including Mayor Hancock himself.

Travis: Really? Where?

Voice: The ghoul in the tricorn hat in the left side stands.

Travis: With the gangsters around him?

Voice: That’s the one. Interesting fellow, Mayor Hancock. Friend of the General’s, and was originally going to play today.

Travis: What happened?

Voice: Disqualified for chem use. Apparently it’s a lot easier to hit a fastball when it’s moving slow on jet.

Travis: Yeah, I guess it would be. We’ve also got quite a few Minutemen in the stands, and some Brotherhood soldiers, along with plenty of settlers, scavvers, traders, farmers, and anyone else who calls the Commonwealth home and could spare an afternoon to relax.

Voice: Travis, I’m not very familiar with the sport, and I’m sure the same can be said for many, if not most, of our listeners. Can you give us an idea of what’s going to happen?

Travis: Ah, I have a small confession to make. I don't know the rules to baseball.

Voice: I would have thought being from Diamond City…

Travis: Well, a lot of knowledge is bound to be lost after 200 years. We keep a lot of the heritage close to our hearts, but the specific rules themselves are a bit fuzzy. Fortunately, there is one Diamond City resident who has enough pre-War memories to help us out today. Nick Valentine has graciously agreed to join us.

Nick: ( _amused_ ) Afternoon.

Voice: Mr. Valentine, I’m a little surprised you weren’t recruited for the team.

Nick: I didn’t think it was fair for a person who can calibrate his arm’s sensitivity to play.

Voice: ( _laughs_ ) Good man. Now, how exactly does this game work?

Nick: The two teams take turns being in the field trying to catch the ball, and at bat trying to hit the ball. If a player hits the ball, they have to run to each base, that’s the white square things on the ground. If they make it around to all four bases, their team gets a point. If the other team tags them or the base with the ball, they’re out. Three outs, and the teams switch who’s in the field or at bat. They switch nine times, and whoever has the most points at the end wins.

Travis: This sounds complicated, Nick.

Nick: It’ll make more sense once they get started, trust me.

Voice: And Team Blue is coming out into the field. Pitching for Team Blue is Col. Preston Garvey, the Minutemen second-in-command. General Holmes himself is on the field, between second and third base.

Nick: That position is called shortstop.

Voice: The first batter for Team Red is coming… it’s the team captain, Piper Wright. Acting as referee - er, umpire - for the game is the General’s personal robot, Codsworth.

Travis: The General’s personal robot?

Nick: He knows all the rules. Trust me, he takes his job very seriously. If Holmes orders him to be impartial, he damn well will be.

Voice: As we can see from the first pitch. Ball one.

Nick: Means there was no way she could have hit the pitch. Four of those and Piper walks to first. Three strikes, and she’s out.

Voice: And there’s the first strike!

Travis: But she didn’t swing!

Nick: You get a strike if swing and miss, and also if you could have hit the ball, but didn’t swing.

Voice: Ball two. Here’s the next pitch…

Travis: Oh that’s a hit! Straight up in the air… and caught by the… um. Catcher?

Nick: ( _chuckles_ ) That’s right. Fella that crouches behind home plate in the mask and padding to catch the pitches is called the catcher. And catching a ball before it hits the ground means Piper's out.

Travis: Who’s the catcher for Team Blue? I can’t make out his face under that mask.

Voice: The Lt. Col. Oh, next up is a Diamond City resident, isn’t he?

Nick: Vadim Bobrov, owner of the Dugout Inn, and purveyor of the Commonwealth’s deadliest moonshine.

Travis: Come on, Nick, it’s not that bad.

Nick: I’m not even human, and you should have seen the number it did on my internals the one time I was dumb enough to play guinea pig.

( _everyone laughs a little_ )

****

Voice: Say, Travis, who’s catching for Team Red?

Travis: One of Diamond City’s security guards… I think? I’m pretty sure that’s where I’ve seen him before.

Voice: Well, it’s a tied game here at the bottom of the ninth, with two outs and bases loaded. MacCready is taking a pretty far lead out on second, practically daring them to pick him off. There’s no place for him to run unless Garvey on third steals home, and that seems unlikely.

Nick: Holmes is coming up to bat. MacCready knows Piper won’t take her eyes off him, so he’s just trying to irritate her - goodness! I stand corrected.

Voice: That was close. MacCready took a dive into the dust and managed to get safe back onto the base, but he won’t be taking quite so big a lead from now on.

Travis: Here’s the first pitch… ball one. Second pitch… ball two. Piper’s pacing around the mound a little bit, now she’s winding up… it’s a strike, no swing. Holmes disagrees with the call, but he doesn’t argue. Oof, the next pitch is a foul ball into the left field stands. Mayor Hancock shouts and points in the direction of the outfield. Two strikes, two balls… and the next pitch is ball three!

Voice: This is it, either Piper strikes out the General on this pitch and gives her team another chance, or he makes it to a base and Team Blue wins. The whole field is silent, the crowd on the edge of their seats…

( _deathclaw scream_ )

Oh, hell.

( _scramble_ )

( _static_ )

( _click_ )


	10. Danse Arrives in Diamond City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse arrives in Diamond City to meet up with Holmes before travelling to the Castle together. Unfortunately, Holmes isn't home. His partner and son, on the other hand...

Power armor wasn't a common sight in Diamond City. Sure, there was the Brotherhood suit standing guard outside the Holmes residence, but it was rarely in use these days, though well maintained. Most Diamond City residents only ever saw power armor when a Brotherhood of Steel supply run came through, which wasn't very often.

No one had ever seen a gunmetal X-01 model suit with blue highlights along the arms and shoulders and a white Minutemen logo on the left breastplate.

Nick answered the knock on the door with some surprise. He glanced behind him, “Codsworth, open the workshop door for the Lt. Col, will ya?” To the silent figure on his doorstep, he said, “Not sure your shoulders will fit through the front.”

The armor nodded, and went to the red door as Codsworth opened it with a flourish. “Welcome, sir! Wonderful to see you again. Can I offer you some refreshment?”

Once the door was as securely closed, Danse removed his helmet. “Some water would be appreciated, Codsworth, thank you.”

Nick came around as Codsworth drifted to the kitchen. “Nice paint job,” he said.

Danse looked at his armor, “It was Sturges and Garvey’s idea.”

“How do you feel about having a Minutemen symbol on your chest?”

The soldier had to think for a moment. “Good. It's a bit like the first time I wore…” his eyes drifted to the red door, where just beyond stood his former Paladin armor. “Of course back then it came with the rank.”

“This is more personal.”

“Yes. I was looking for Holmes.”

Nick almost smiled at the subject change. “Not back yet.”

“He asked me to meet him here, before travelling to the Castle together.”

“He say when he'd be heading back?”

“No, but as he passed through Sanctuary a little over a week ago, I thought he would have returned by now.”

Nick frowned. “His original plan was to visit all the settlements. Guess that hasn't changed.”

Danse was surprised. “All of them? At once?”

“He didn't tell you?”

“I assumed he was doing the sensible thing and visiting a handful at a time before returning to base.”

Nick chuckled, “Holmes may be brilliant, but sensible doesn't always make the list.”

Danse nodded with a smirk, “True. Are you… watching the house while he's gone?”

It was a polite 'why are you here,’ but the question was still there. “He didn't tell you, did he.”

“Tell me what?”

“We're partners. The living-together kind, not just business.”

Danse's brow rose. “No, he didn't mention that.”

Figured. “Well, we don't know when he'll be back, but you're welcome to park the armor and stay til he is, if you want.” Nick expected the ex-Paladin to say 'no.’ He was wrong.

The armor opened, and Danse stepped out, “Thank you.” Nick was surprised to see him in a Minutemen uniform; blue button down shirt tucked into jeans and brown boots, a tan jacket with its sleeves long instead of rolled up. Danse must have noticed the surprise, because he glanced down at himself and said, “Garvey thinks I need a duster as well. I told him it was unnecessary, but he seems to be fond of the look.”

Nick chuckled, and led the way into the main room. “Guess you've settled in pretty well up there.”

“Yes.” Danse paused to appreciate the assortment of odd weapons Holmes had collected before following. Nick gestured he have a seat at the table before sitting down himself, lighting a cigarette. With some small trepidation, Danse joined him.

Codsworth handed him a cup, "Your water, sir.”

“Thank you, Codsworth,” Danse said.

“Of course, sir. How is everyone in Sanctuary?”

“They are well. The settlement continues to thrive. Sturges asked me to convey his regret that he hasn't had time to come to tea.”

Codsworth laughed, “Well. Another time.” And the robot drifted back to the kitchen and started surveying supplies for supper.

Danse and Nick sat.

It was obvious to Nick that Danse was uncomfortable, but just as obvious was that he was trying to pretend like he wasn't. He might have pulled it off if he could stop glancing at Nick with so much damn confusion.

“What?” Nick finally asked with a harsh exhale of smoke, fully aware of all the gaps it would escape through.

Danse was… embarrassed? “I've never seen you without your coat on. It's strange.”

Nick blinked, surprised, and laughed a little. That wasn't what he expected. “Pretty strange seein’ you out of armor, too.”

Danse folded his arms, “I'd prefer to be in it, but my host implied I should leave it behind.”

Nick froze for an instant and glanced away, “Well. I didn't expect you to say yes. I meant it when I said you could stay. Just didn't think you'd want to.” Nick took a long pull on his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he studied the soldier. “I don't think I've ever just sat and talked with you before. Always kept my distance.”

Danse nodded, “Understandable, considering my former affiliation. You've always been civil, unless I insulted you first.”

Nick smirked, “Decent of you to say so.”

Danse shifted uncomfortably, “Holmes mentioned once he considered you part of the family, back when you both brought Shaun to visit Sanctuary.”

Nick smiled at that. “Did he? He never told me.”

“Then this is a recent development, and I'm not quite as oblivious as I feared.”

Nick laughed, “Just before we left for Far Harbor. We haven't told a lot of people yet, but word seems to be getting around.”

Danse tensed as the front door opened, but he needn't have worried. The third member of the Holmes family had arrived home.

Shaun gasped, a smile on his face when he saw who was sitting at the table. “Danse!”

Danse relaxed, “Hello, Shaun.”

Shaun hurried over, “Danse you can fix armor and weapons and things, what about synths?”

Danse blinked. “What?”

Nick groaned, “Oh no. Shaun, stop.”

Shaun would not be dissuaded, “Something inside Nick is making a sound it shouldn't be but he won't try to fix it until Dad gets home.”

“Shaun,” Nick said in his best warning voice.

Danse looked at Nick, concerned. That had the old synth more flustered than Shaun being worried. “What's wrong?”

“I'm fine, both of you. The number of parts that have made strange sounds over the years -”

“There's nothing wrong with a little regular maintenance, sir.”

“Stay out of this, Codsworth!”

Danse frowned, thinking. “This is an indelicate question, but what's the difference between a synth and a robot?”

“Well, we're prettier for one thing,” Nick drawled. “No offense, Codsworth.”

“None taken, sir, though may I say that is a matter of opinion.”

Danse sighed, maybe just a touch red. “I meant, is there a great deal of difference between the internal mechanics of a mechanical synth versus those of a robot?”

“Robot parts don't work in synths,” Nick blew out a cloud of smoke, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Trust me, I've tried.”

Danse wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but turned to Shaun, “Shaun, I don't understand what you want me to do.”

Shaun was getting exasperated. “He won't tell me what's wrong, so either he doesn't know or he does know and it's bad enough that he thinks I'll worry.”

Nick sighed, “Son, I’m not letting someone root around inside me just to tell me they can’t fix it when I’m functioning just fine for the moment. I’ve been doing self repairs on myself for ages; once I figure out what’s wrong I can take care of it.”

“It sounds like when one of the valves inside a Gen-2 starts deteriorating,” Shaun pouted.

Nick stared at him. “What?”

“In the Institute, I got to see some repairs being done to a Gen-2 because it was making a sound that wasn’t good. A part needed to be replaced. Most of the time they didn’t bother fixing Gen-2s if the damage was a lot, but this was an easy thing to fix so they fixed it.”

Danse grasped at the thread before him, “Institute. One of the southernmost settlements was founded by a trio of Institute refugees. Perhaps one of them would know something about synth repair.”

Nick's brow rose, “The ones down in Murkwater?”

“Do you know of others?”

Nick sighed, “Alright, we can ask.”

Shaun cheered, “Yes! Can I come?”

“No,” Nick was stern.

“Awww! Please?”

“I'm not hauling you all the way down to a swamp-swallowed construction site.”

“I concur,” Danse said, “the risk that you might come to harm would be too great.”

Shaun was indignant, “I’ve been to Sanctuary, why not other places?”

“The trip to Sanctuary can be made upon established trade routes that are regularly patrolled across solid terrain. The construction site the scientists made their home has none of those benefits, yet. It would be irresponsible to permit you to accompany us.”

Shaun sighed, disappointed. “Fine.”

Nick smiled, and quickly tousled Shaun's hair with his good hand, “Don't worry kid, we'll get out of town again soon.”

“Ok.” Shaun paused, and then said, “Where's your coat?”

Nick chuckled, “By the door. Man can take his coat off in his own home, can't he?”

Shaun shrugged, “You never do.”

“True. A memory popped up of the old Nick tossing off his coat at home, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Don't you have homework to do?”

“While Danse is here?” Shaun was offended.

“What you are studying?” Danse asked, earning him a small smile from Nick.

Shaun sighed, “We're supposed to read an old newspaper from before the War and write about something we read in it. I think Mr. Zwicky is running out of things for us to practice reading with.”

“It's always good to know a little bit about history,” Nick said with a grin and some exaggerated sagacity, “lest we repeat the mistakes we've made before.”

Danse nodded, “Most of my formal education was completed within the Brotherhood, but I’ve always had a small fascination for historical facts.”

“Do you want to help?” Shaun hoped.

Danse smiled and warned, “Do not make the mistake of assuming that my interest will alleviate your responsibility.”

Shaun was crestfallen. Nick laughed, “Just get started, you might like it. You like hearing stories about the past from Dad and I, don't you?”

“Yeah, but you're good at telling stories!” The ten-year-old rolled his eyes, sat down on the couch, and started reading.

“It’s strange the way you interact with him,” Danse commented.

Nick's brow rose. “I'm gonna ignore how that sounded on account of how well we've been getting along.”

Danse blushed, “I didn't mean… I apologize. It's obvious you care about him a great deal. I was surprised.”

Nick smiled, “Tell you the truth, still sort of scares the heck out of me.” He watched Shaun for a moment, reading with intense concentration, legs crossed in perfect mimicry of Holmes when he read. Nick shook his head in wonder, “Over a hundred years old, held together with wire and luck, and I'm trying to help raise my partner's kid. Never saw that coming.”

“Was he in a fight recently?”

Nick turned back to his guest, “Noticed the bruise huh? Looks a lot better than it did, but Holmes is gonna panic when he gets home.”

Danse was skeptical, “‘Panic’ is not something I associate with him.”

“Ha, sure, he won't look like he's panicking, but anything happens to his - our - son, and he's a mess.”

Danse smiled a little at that. “What happened?”

“Kid at school said some unkind things about the family.”

“And he defended his parents.”

His parents, Nick thought. Damn but that felt good, and was still a bit terrifying. “Didn't quite get the details of who threw the first punch, but either way it had to be broken up by a guard.” Nick was alarmed by the definite sound of approval that came from the Lt. Colonel. “Danse, don't get any ideas.”

Danse frowned, “I don't see why you should object to basic self defense. A solid block and response would have prevented that black eye.”

“If anyone's gonna teach that kid how to fistfight, it's gonna be his dad.”

Danse considered this a moment. “Fair. Marksmanship, on the other hand -”

“Danse.”

“I already know how to shoot a rifle,” Shaun said from the couch, “Danse taught me in Sanctuary.”

Nick sighed, “Folks won't take kindly to practice in city limits, and I'm not letting you go outside the Wall with super mutants down the street. Do your homework.”

“I saw a small group in one of the buildings, engaged in a firefight with Diamond City Security,” Danse stated. “They aren't a threat anymore.”

Nick shook his head, “You may have cleaned out that batch, but another bunch will move in in a few weeks.” Danse scowled. Nick shrugged, “Now that the Institute isn't spitting them out anymore, eventually they'll go extinct.”

“Unless some come up from the Capital Wasteland. They can make more of themselves, there.”

“Well that's a disturbing thought.”

“Nick?” Shaun asked, “What's a district attorney?”

“A son of a b - uh. Person that's supposed to file charges against criminals the police catch. Why?”

“File charges?”

A weird discomfort was settling, some processor somewhere going into overdrive. Nick lit another cigarette. It didn't help, but old Nick's habits were hard to break. “Accuse the crooks of what they did, make it all official and take them to court for trial. Why?”

“It's in this article.”

“Police beat, huh?” Nick forced himself to relax. “Anyone I knew?” It was a desperate joke, but Shaun just shrugged.

“They don't say who the lead detective was, just that the bad guy was innocent.”

“Huh.”

“Valentine,’” Danse said, curious, “was that a comment on your age, or is it related to the 'old Nick’ you mentioned earlier?”

“Picked up on that, did you?” Nick smoked for a bit before saying, “There was a Nick Valentine back 200 years ago.”

“Were you… designed to be him?”

Danse wasn’t much good at treading carefully, but he was trying his best, which Nick appreciated. He sighed, “Not exactly. Nick was a damn good cop. Had some hard things happen he couldn't really cope with, so he had his brain scanned and memories copied as part of some experimental treatment. Then a hundred years later all that data got put in a prototype for artificial humans.”

Danse's brow furrowed. Nick wasn't sure if that was a signal for anger or confusion. “You.”

“Me.” Nick maintained his nonchalance, though he was more than a bit nervous. “It's not something I go around announcing to people, that I've got the memories of a man dead 200 years. Friends and family know, but, uh.”

Danse thought about that for a moment, expression clearing. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Nick never imagined those words coming out of Danse's mouth, not directed toward him at any rate. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He'd told him, hadn't he?

Shaun came back to the table, sitting between them, pencil and paper in hand. “I finished reading an article, now I have to write about what I read. When I'm done, can I show Danse my new project?”

Nick chuckled, “If there's time before supper, sure.”

There was, and Nick marvelled at the way Danse encouraged Shaun. He slipped into the role of teacher/mentor perfectly, pointing out flaws without demeaning the effort, and praising every area where Shaun excelled. There had been kids on the Prydwen - Squires, they called them. Nick wondered if Danse had been one of the soldiers who dealt with them a lot, at least before coming to the Commonwealth.

Supper consisted of Shaun and Danse discussing the finer points of weapons modifications over grilled radstag and roasted carrots. Nick was constantly amused at how Codsworth refused to serve any creature with an exoskeleton for a meal, except perhaps the occasional mirelurk, but only if absolutely fresh. It was Nick’s secret suspicion that while the Mr. Handy’s programming for how to cook meats like venison, steak, and crab, could be modified for the post-apocalypse, no one at General Atomics had the foresight to teach their robots how to cook bugs.

Shaun wanted to hear about how Danse met his Dad, which led to an explanation of who the Brotherhood were and why Danse wasn’t a part of them anymore. Nick kept respectfully quiet as Danse elaborated the positive points, safeguarding humanity and all that. Shaun did all the talking needed when Danse got to the ‘hating synths’ part.

“People in Diamond City hate synths because they’re different and they don’t understand them.”

Danse glanced at Nick quickly, a small apologetic smile on his face. “I think perhaps it’s a little different in the Brotherhood. We - they - don’t understand synths particularly well either, but they do know that they are a thing to be hated, because that is what they’re trained to think, and that is a very difficult thing to change. To be perfectly honest, I still believe the creation of synths, including myself, was a gross misuse of technology and possibly even evil in its intent… but it isn’t the synths’ fault they were made, and individuals are not necessarily threats to humanity.”

Shaun thought about this. “The synths in the Institute weren’t evil. The Coursers were scary, but the rest of the synths were really nice most of the time. So were the scientists who made them.”

“Why did they make synths?” Danse’s question was as much to get Shaun to think as it was a desperate hope for an answer to why he existed. Nick couldn’t blame him.

Shaun shrugged, “I don’t know. They were always just there. They worked a lot? They did lots of the jobs the scientists didn’t have time to do. Dad says the people in the Institute weren’t bad people, they just didn’t think about the… um…”

“Consequences,” Nick quietly supplied.

“Yeah. They didn’t think about the consequences of all the stuff they did to make the Institute better, and they didn’t want to. So he destroyed the Institute so that they couldn’t hurt anyone again, because of the ap… apathy?”

“That’s right,” Nick nodded, watching Danse closely.

Hearing he was built to be nothing more than a slave, for a group of people who just wanted to ignore the rest of the world, did not comfort the soldier. “No wonder I wanted to escape,” he muttered. “I wish I could remember how I did it.”

A quiet fell over the room for a moment, shattered as Shaun, in the way of ten-year-old boys, changed the subject. “What if the guards watched? Then we could do target practice outside, but it would be a lot more safe.”

Danse was taken aback for a moment, then he laughed. Nick was pretty sure he’d never heard the man laugh before. “An idea for another day, I think.”

“The Lt. Colonel’s right,” Nick said. “You’ve got school in the morning. Wash up, brush teeth, and you’ve got some time to read or play before bed.”

As Shaun went upstairs, Nick said, “It’s strange the way you interact with him.”

Danse looked at him in surprise, and then chuckled. “I had to work with a particularly strong-willed and intelligent Squire in the Capital Wasteland. He was older by the time I started mentoring him, of course, but Captain Kells on the Prydwen took advantage of my willingness to work with the younger soldiers to train promising Squires.” A flash of melancholy crossed his face, disappointment maybe, or regret. Hell, maybe the man was just missing the home he used to have. “And then I was sent to the Commonwealth.”

“And everything changed.”

“Yes.” He sighed, “For the better, I hope.”

“Looks that way from where I’m sitting,” Nick smiled. “You’re a good man, Danse. The Minutemen are lucky to have you as a soldier, and Holmes is lucky to have you as a friend.”

Danse nodded once, appreciative. “Thank you.”

It took some doing to convince Shaun to get into bed at the usual time, but once he was asleep Danse made himself at home on the couch with a few magazines and books. He said something about not sleeping much. Whether that was due to him being a synth or something else, Nick wasn’t sure, and wasn’t going to pry. Nick used the opportunity to head over to the office and check in with Ellie before she retired for the night herself, maybe catch up on some paperwork. By the time Diamond City was asleep, there still hadn’t been any word from Holmes. 

Nick wasn’t worried, he told himself, but he did sure as hell want to know what that man was getting up to right now.


	11. Two Machines Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after Chapter 10 of The Return of Holmes and Valentine. Danse does some thinking and doesn't come to any conclusions, but at least he's trying to figure things out.

The hotel in Goodneighbor had one room available. It contained one bed and an ancient armchair, which Danse was now trying to rest in. He’d insisted Holmes take the bed. The chair was not very comfortable, but as the only alternative was Hancock’s couch, he’d make do. Danse had slept in worse conditions, and he didn’t need as much sleep as his General and friend anyway. The reluctant leader of the Minutemen was now asleep next to his partner, who didn’t need any sleep at all. Valentine’s machinery hummed as he lay on the bed and ran a series of self-diagnostics.

Danse still couldn't fathom how the relationship worked. A human man and a machine, a quite literal metal machine. Valentine was more than the sum of his parts, that at least Danse had come to realize. To be honest, he sort of liked the old synth. Nick Valentine was a good man, if you could look past the metal skeleton, and Danse was trying very hard to look past the metal. It would be hypocritical of him not to. They were both machines, after all; Valentine was simply a much older model. 

Still, it was hard. He was getting better, but Holmes had been right earlier when he said Brotherhood habits made things difficult. His initial reaction to every ghoul was still to tense, ready for a fight, though at least he'd trained himself to say hello instead of any number of things a Brotherhood soldier would readily spit out. He hadn't had much opportunity to meet other synths, at least none that had been forthright. Who knew how many of his recruits had no idea they were memory wiped synths… just like him?

He sighed, closed his eyes, and shifted in the chair. He wished Garvey were here. … where did that come from? 

He must be getting used to falling asleep next to him. He certainly hadn't expected more than that first night. Two people having fun, taking advantage of a moment… but it had continued. They started talking afterward, lying tangled up together and saying whatever was on their minds. Garvey had called him 'babe,’ and Danse had liked it. Preston. The memory of moaning that name made Danse shift uncomfortably in his chair again, his sudden mild arousal surprising.

Preston had been worried about Danse leaving, and for a brief moment Danse hadn't wanted to leave. Preston cared about him, and though Danse still wasn't sure how much of his own emotions were real or programming or if it even mattered -

A creak of the floorboards had him fully alert, reaching for his rifle… and stopping with a sigh as he saw Valentine standing frozen next to the bed.

“Sorry to wake you,” Valentine said softly. 

“I wasn't asleep,” Danse said.

“Movement helps after a deep diagnostic,” Valentine explained. “Not sure why, but… hey, you alright?”

Danse looked away from the small glowing yellow circles in the dark. Valentine's eyes were the most unnerving part of him. At times like this, it was hard to tell whether it was the inhuman appearance or the way the gaze seemed to pierce through everything that unsettled Danse more. “I'm fine. Just… thinking.”

“You know, Hancock talks a big game, but you make clear your boundaries up front and his couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than that chair.” Valentine chuckled, “I'll take that look of disgust as a 'no thank you.’”

“I trust that there is some redeeming quality in him to warrant Holmes’ friendship, but I have no inclination to spend more time with him than necessary.”

Valentine leaned against the wall directly across from Danse, “Fair enough. Goodness knows he got a hell of a kick out of trying to get a rise out of you.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placing one between his lips, “I appreciate the effort, trying not to sound like a Brotherhood soldier and all, but don’t go pretending to tolerate people you can’t stand.” 

“I never have, and don't plan on starting,” Danse said with a small smile as Valentine lit his cigarette, and offered Danse the pack. “No, thank you. Why do you smoke those things?”

Valentine smiled back and shrugged, “Old Nick could never kick the habit.”

“You can't get any benefit from it.”

“Not a physical one, but the first time I tried there was a definite comfort, like it was a fragment of being a… a real person. This was early on, you see. I was still getting used to the idea of having a metal body. Anyway, it stuck, I enjoy it, and it can't hurt me anyway so why stop?”

Danse frowned, “But how does it work if you don't have lungs?” He paused. “Do you have lungs?”

“Got some internal gadgets to mimic humans,” a cloud of smoke drifted to the ceiling. “Guess there's a set of something supposed to be lungs inside somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Motto of the Institute seems to have been 'why not?’” Danse sighed, and Valentine laughed softly. “Get some shut-eye, Danse. You organic models need to rest, even if it's not as much as humans. I'll stand guard.”

Danse tried. He eventually succeeded.


	12. Training with Preston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston keeps up the training of the new recruits in Danse's absence. Sturges is always happy to help, and offer some advice that has nothing to do with training.

Preston couldn't run drills and train like Danse could. That had been painfully obvious the first day he tried. So he'd adjusted, coming up with his own sort of exercise based on a pre-War game he'd heard about. Sturges had been only too happy to help out, and the old Park Ranger's station to the west made for a perfect base.

“Jackson's team is doing well,” he muttered to the engineer from their viewpoint on the roof.

“Yeah, but Michaels is gonna flank her, just watch.”

There was a loud swear, and an eruption of yellow paint amid the bushes. “Michaels is going to _try_ to flank her,” Preston smiled.

A Minuteman with yellow paint coating his right shoulder sprinted forward, red cloth in his left hand. A shot fired, and he fell just short of the Ranger station steps as his knee was coated in yellow. “Damn it!”

The woman who'd shot him hurried forward as he scrambled for the redesigned pipe pistol on his belt. She shouted as a blue paint pellet hit her chest. He was swiftly disarmed, and the flag recovered.

“That's cheating!” Michaels protested. “I shot you in the chest!”

“Adrenaline's amazing shit!” was the incensed retort.

“Alright, that's enough,” Preston called down. “Both teams come up from cover, let's see the damage.”

He and Sturges scrambled down as the recruits lined up for inspection. No one was in uniform today, because Preston didn't know how much of a pain in the ass paint would have been to wash out. ‘Capture the Flag’ had been his idea; Sturges had suggested the paint. Everyone was coated in blue and yellow, most of them suffering shots to legs and torsos, though one soldier was sporting a bright blue stain across his forehead.

“I thought I said no head shots,” Preston frowned.

“Blood splatter, sir,” the Minuteman grinned.

Preston laughed a little, “Alright. Well, Jackson's team has the least fatalities, and they retrieved the flag… even though,” he focused on Jackson, “that chest shot should have put you down according to the rules.”

She folded her arms, “No one cares about rules when bullets are involved. Sir.”

“No one cares about grabbing pieces of pretty cloth either, Private. That's not the point of this.” He addressed everyone, “The Minutemen are a team. We look out for each other, we work together, and we help anyone who needs it. Now, let's talk about all the shit that went wrong for everyone.”

They broke it down, every flaw in strategy, everyone's weak points, things they should focus on in their training as soon as Danse got back, and then they discussed everything that was done well. Marksmanship was good, basic concepts were solid, and no one could say this batch weren't determined to say the least. By the time they were dismissed, the recruits felt pretty good about the direction they were headed, while fully recognizing the distance they had to go.

Preston was exhausted. He thought he shouldn't be, not like he did much as he sat on the roof watching, but something about all this was draining.

“I gotta say,” Sturges said as they slowly walked toward the mess hall, “I almost turned ‘round and looked for Danse when you called Jackson 'Private.’”

Danse had made it to the Castle, which was good. Now he was going to Murkwater, because Nick needed help from the Institute scientists. Danse gave some reason about keeping a promise to Shaun to keep his dads safe, which was cute and probably true, but it was also an excuse to be “boots on the ground” for a little longer. That was unexpected, and had Preston on edge. He was worried; more worried than he was about the recruits on missions, which was silly because Danse was more than capable of taking care of himself, but… damn it, why couldn't he shake the twist of his stomach?

“And now I'm starting to sound like him,” Preston sighed.

Sturges laughed, “Happens when you’re close to someone, so I hear.”

Preston frowned, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks, “It's not like that.”

Sturges smirked, “Whatever you say, boss.”

“He's my friend, and sometimes we fuck.”

“Sure. And you wish to hell he was here instead of out tempting fate.”

“I'd wish that for any friend.”

Sturges sighed, “I know you would, Preston. You're always looking out for us. But if anyone else went on a mission, you'd be just worried, not sleepless.”

“No one else has the Brotherhood hunting them.”

Sturges threw up his hands, “Alright, your worry is purely professional and friendly, fine. And you're not the only person Danse calls by his first name, and you both don't take whatever small spare time you have to check in with each other and share a quiet moment. We've been through hell, boss. We're allowed to be happy, to have something worth living for beyond 'the right thing to do.’”

Preston glanced at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck, “It's not something we've talked about.”

“No shit!” Sturges guffawed. “Why the hell do you think I'm goin’ on like this! You don't have to be Holmes to see that Danse makes you happy. Talk about it when he gets back, ok?”

Preston's stomach fluttered. “Look, I know I love it when we fuck, not gonna deny it, but you're blowing it way out of proportion. Besides, I don't even know how he feels beyond that, if he even does, so...” Seeing Sturges didn't believe him for a second, Preston shook his head, “We've got something good right now. I don't want to risk losing it.”

Sturges sighed. “Alright, man. I'll mind my own business from here on out, but I'm worried you're gonna let something good get away.”

“Not gonna happen, I promise.”

They walked.

“So how're things with Curie?” Preston asked.

Sturges chuckled, “I think we're good. Real good. She’s always gonna be a little different, but she’s getting used to this whole ‘human’ thing. Sometimes I worry I’m not the guy who should be coaching her through stuff, though. She knows why stuff happens, how the biology works, but feeling it is different and... well, I’m not exactly the most eloquent guy in town.”

Preston laughed, “You are when it’s important, and through all the hardest times you were the voice of sanity and reason that kept us from each other’s throats. I can’t think of anyone better to teach ‘being human.’”

Sturges smiled, “Thanks, man. So maybe listen to me when I say ‘talk to your boyfriend.’”

Preston sighed.


	13. Christmas in Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanctuary hosts a Christmas party for Holmes, his family, and a few friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit out of order chronologically, but I wanted to do something for the season. I'll put it back in its proper order once the main story catches up.

The General was coming to Sanctuary to celebrate Christmas. He was bringing the whole family, including Codsworth, plus Piper and her little sister. Hancock was invited, and they could expect Deacon to show up at some point, though who knew if he’d actually announce himself when he arrived or if he’d pretend to be a settler for two days beforehand. At least he couldn’t get away with pretending to be a Minuteman, not stationed in Sanctuary. Danse knew everyone, and Ronnie always gave advance notice if anyone from the Castle was headed their way. The ex-merc MacCready and his son would come, too. This was all in addition to the settlers and soldiers who lived in Sanctuary.

And Preston had no idea what the hell a Christmas party was supposed to look like.

He’d been through Diamond City once near the holiday. He knew it involved lights and there was something about a tree and presents, maybe? There was a feast, if you could manage it, but it hadn’t been much of a celebration growing up. After joining the Minutemen, Christmas meant a shorter shift on guard duty, a warm drink and maybe some holiday music on the radio if they were lucky. Something about snow and peace on earth. He always liked that part.

Only one person in town knew what a proper Christmas looked like, and though he was a nice guy, he could be… hard to talk to. When he got nostalgic, it was hard to get him to stop.

“Hey, Al.”

The former Vault-Tec rep smiled, and paused from rearranging his counter display. “Colonel Garvey, what can I do for you today?

“I need to know what a pre-War Christmas celebration looked like. The General’s coming.”

Al's face lit up. “Well! Christmas. Haven’t thought about that in… and the General’s coming, so he’ll know! Huh. I don’t know how much you can get done with today’s supplies…”

Preston nodded, “Let’s start with some basics, and go from there.”

 ***

The mess hall crew had outdone themselves, preparing a deathclaw roast (provided by a troop of volunteer recruits and Danse), roasted vegetables with tarberry relish, and sliced winter melon for dessert. Sturges had rigged a string of red and green lights to hang on the branches of the ancient dead tree in the center of town, and Al had hung a twig with some fake leaves and berries on it from one of the lower branches. Curie had helped cut out snowflake decorations for the houses, including a well meaning lecture on the marvels of geometry and the science of water crystallization for the other volunteers. No one minded, and some had actually enjoyed it.

The whole settlement couldn't fit in the mess hall at the same time, so tables were set up outside, along with some lanterns and benches around the cul-de-sac. Preston stood at the bend in the road and waited.

Danse came toward him, “Holmes is nearly here, along with the rest of his family and guests,” he reported.

“Good,” Preston nodded. “Are you gonna stay in armor the whole time?”

“Are you going to breathe at all in the next ten minutes?” Danse smiled. Preston rolled his eyes, but took a deep breath. Danse put a hand on his shoulder, “It's a party, Preston. And you've done an admirable job coordinating everything. It's going to be great… and here's the proof coming.”

Dogmeat barked excitedly as Shaun shouted, “Preston this is so cool!!!” from down the road. “All the houses have snowflakes on them and some of them have lights and Dad said there'll be food and sweets and hi Danse!”

“Shaun! Wait!” A girl hurried after him, a younger boy in tow behind her. “Duncan can't run as fast as you!” she accused.

“Sorry!” Shaun was instantly penitent, “You ok? I just got excited.”

Duncan nodded, smiling a little, “I'm ok.”

“Hello, Duncan,” Preston said. He'd only met the boy once, when Holmes had brought his father to Sanctuary to introduce him to the Minutemen. MacCready still wasn't an official recruit, yet, but that was more to do with being unwilling to leave Duncan for extended periods than anything against the cause. Preston suspected the ex-merc also couldn't bring himself to help anyone for free, but that wasn't important today.

“Hello,” Duncan said, “uh…”

“You can just call him Preston, it's easier to remember than Colonel Garvey,” Shaun supplied, making Preston laugh. “Do you know Nat?”

“We haven't met,” Preston turned to the girl and offered a hand, “Piper's sister?”

She shook his hand with more firmness than any ten-year old should. Tough, this girl. “Yep. We run Publick Occurrences.”

“I'm familiar with it. Piper did an interview back when the Minutemen were restarting.”

“Yeah, that one sold really well.”

“Uh. Did it?”

“I didn't realize your sister managed the business portion of your publication, Piper,” Danse said as the reporter approached.

Piper smiled, “I write 'em, she sells 'em. It works. The rest of the adults are on their way, Blue's just mired in well-wishers. Keeps saying he's going to see everyone later tonight, but no one wants to wait.”

“Shaun, what limits have been placed on your consumption of sugar tonight?” Danse asked.

“None.”

Danse was skeptical.

“Yet,” Shaun admitted.

Preston grinned, “Won't take long for them to cut you off. You and Danse could decimate our stock of snack cakes.”

“I do have some self-control,” Danse rolled his eyes. Preston had recently discovered Danse's fondness for the pre-War treats, and hadn't stopped teasing him about it.

“Have you ever seen snow?” Shaun suddenly asked.

“Once or twice,” Preston said, and Danse nodded. “Why?”

“Dad said that when he was growing up there was sometimes snow at Christmas, and that's why the songs keep talking about it. Nick said It's a rare treat now.”

“Nicky's right, I'm afraid,” Piper said. “But hey, with all the snowflakes on the houses, it's practically a white Christmas anyway.”

“Here comes Holmes,” Danse said, “shall we get the kids inside and fed?”

The children didn't give them a choice, running inside the mess hall at Shaun's lead.

 ***

Preston smiled to himself. The sun was low in the sky and the lanterns were lit. Everyone was socializing, Diamond City Radio played softly in the background (Travis apparently only had one Christmas record, so he was interspersing the occasional tune into his usual playlist) and Danse was beside him. He'd left the armor at the house, at Preston's insistence. It was a party, and neither of them were on duty. Besides, if anything happened, there were half a dozen extra hands to make up for lack of power armor in a fight.

People came in and out of the mess hall with plates laden with food, a warm drink in their hand. The night was cool, but not unpleasant. Holmes had spotted Deacon as soon as he showed up, much to the spy's chagrin. He and MacCready were currently comparing experiences travelling from the Capital Wasteland, even though Deacon claimed he hadn't been there in years.

Conversation died down at the sound of a vertibird approaching from the southeast. Danse tensed, trying to decide if he should go into the nearest building or run for his armor… “It landed,” he muttered, confused.

“I got this, hold tight,” Deacon said, and disappeared between buildings.

“Anyone ever wonder how he sees in the dark with sunglasses on?” MacCready asked.

“Relax, everyone,” Holmes spoke, “I believe I know what's going on. Danse isn't in any danger, and neither are any other synths or any ghouls.”

Deacon reappeared, “Boss, a vertibird landed on the other side of the bridge, a Scribe got out, showed the guard a piece of paper and is now headed this way.”

“Is anyone with her?”

“No, but… how'd you know it's a her?”

“I invited her.”

That sparked sounds of amazement around the crowd as Preston felt Danse's tension fade. “You invited… it couldn't be.” The Scribe approached, hesitating on the edge of the light, clearly looking for Holmes. Preston thought she looked familiar. Danse moved toward her, “Haylen?”

Her face lit up, “Paladin!” She ran straight to him, staggering him with a hug. “You're alive! You're really alive!”

“Of course…” he hugged her back briefly, and gently pried her off, “did you not receive my message?”

“Message?” Haylen's joy flipped to irritation as she punched his arm, “Don't look for me?! That message!?! With all due respect sir, what the hell does that mean??”

Danse frowned, the officer coming back into his tone, “I couldn't relay any specific information safely. I thought it was implied that I was alive and hiding!”

“The last thing I knew was that Holmes had been sent to hunt you down, Maxson tells everyone you're dead, and then I get a message saying, ‘Don't look for me!’ I thought you'd…” the anger disappeared, “I thought…”

Danse was stunned. “Oh. Oh, Haylen, I'm sorry. I didn't, as you can see.”

Holmes approached, and everyone took their cue to get back to whatever they were doing. “Scribe Haylen! Good to see you.”

“Paladin Holmes. Uh, General Holmes.”

Holmes grinned, “Just Holmes will suffice tonight.”

Haylen smiled, “Thank you for the invitation.”

“You're welcome, thank you for accepting.”

“I was surprised the guard let me in.”

“If you hadn't been carrying an invitation, or if anyone tried to accompany you, you would have been politely asked to wait while I was alerted to your presence. If you hadn't waited, you would have been asked in much less polite terms while a signal was sent up to give Danse time to hide.”

“Really?”

“We're quite fond of our Lt. Colonel. Look around, meet the enemy.”

“You aren't the enemy, sir.”

Holmes smiled, “I hope to keep it that way. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” As Holmes walked away, she whispered to Danse, “He's just as strange as ever.”

Danse chuckled, “For which I'm grateful. This way,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “Let me show you what's kept me alive.”

He was bringing her to Preston. Preston recognized her now as the Scribe who'd been in Cambridge when he and Holmes had found Danse and his two soldiers fighting ferals. He swallowed his suspicion and said, “Scribe Haylen, wasn't it? Colonel Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

She shook his hand with vague recognition. “I remember you, you were with Holmes last year. You went with him and Danse to retrieve the transmitter from ArcJet Systems.”

“You've got a good memory.”

“I'm a Scribe.”

“Colonel Garvey has been vital to my… adjustment to a new life here with the Minutemen,” Danse said. “Scribe Haylen told Holmes where to find me after my true nature was discovered. She even begged him not to kill me. Unless, of course, it turned out I truly was an Institute spy.”

Preston smiled. That explained a lot. “Then you're definitely welcome, and I'm glad to have met you.” He gestured to the mess hall, “Food's inside, help yourself. Make Danse give you the grand tour.”

“Thank you,” Haylen said, politely.

Preston met Danse's eyes with a silent question. Danse smiled, small and thankful. Preston smiled back as Danse led Haylen inside. Preston wandered over to where Piper was talking with Sturges and Curie. Danse needed a single night with the only person from his old life who didn't want to kill him.

Haylen was very impressed with the array of options presented. After living off field rations and whatever was served in the mess aboard the Prydwen, this was astounding. She almost didn't even notice the man arranging a table full of sweets. If he hadn't been wearing that yellow coat and hat, she probably would have ignored him completely.

Instead, she contained her recoil to a frown and a wince… which soon became a wide eyed look of surprise as Danse said with perfect politeness, “Al, I understand most of the preparations for the evening are your doing?”

The ghoul grinned with false modesty, “Oh, I can't take all the credit. Preston asked for my help, and I was happy to give it.”

“Al runs the general store,” Danse explained to Haylen, “and is responsible for most of Sanctuary’s trade. He's pre-War. Al, this is Scribe Haylen.”

Al nodded, “Didn't think I'd see Brotherhood here anytime soon, but you're a friend of Danse, so welcome.”

Haylen didn't know what to say. “Um. Thank you.”

Al laughed a little, “Come on, miss, help yourself! It's Christmas. Peace on earth, goodwill to all. Lt. Colonel, I brought out half my stock of these for the occasion,” he gestured to a tray of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. “Help yourself!”

Haylen laughed at Danse's moment of temptation, “I once saw him devour a whole box of those things. Rhys and I teased him about it for three days.”

Al chuckled, “Good to hear he's always had a bit of humanity to him.”

Danse's smile was small. “Only a bit.”

“More than you think, Lt. Colonel,” Al said. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Haylen.”

“Thank you.” Haylen hesitated a moment, but said, “Nice to meet you too.”

Al grinned, “A Christmas miracle.”

They found a table in a corner. Haylen's plate held a small sample of everything she'd seen. Danse consumed a snack cake in two bites.

“Do you have any idea how many preservatives are in those things to keep them edible after 200 years?”

“You admit that they're edible.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, “You are the only person I've ever known who can stomach them.”

“Garvey jokes that it must be a 'synth thing.’”

Haylen was quiet for a while after that. “I never really thought about the fact you're a… a synth. I was just worried about you, and so certain that you never meant us harm. That you didn't deserve to be executed without trial.”

Danse spoke quietly, “I am a synth. Yet, I feel human. I joined the Brotherhood without knowing what I was. And until I was banished, I was a loyal soldier of the Brotherhood. I would have died for those ideals.... I suppose I truly would have, had Holmes not found me in time.”

She looked at him, earnest, “I'm glad he did. I believe you didn't know, and… I’m honored to have served under you, sir, even though no one else understands.”

Danse smiled. “Thank you, Haylen. That means a great deal to me.”

 ***

“So she really saved Danse's life?” Piper asked Preston.

Preston shrugged. “That's what Danse said. And Holmes invited her.”

“Huh. Maybe the Brotherhood… nope, can't finish that sentence. I tried, and I can't.”

“Well ain't this a gloomy pair at a party,” Nick ambled up.

“Nicky, what do you know about the Scribe?”

“I'm not going to answer that, Piper, because you already know everything you need to, Danse is entitled to his privacy, and it's a goddamn Christmas party.”

“Soooo, you don't actually know anything other than what everyone heard when she got here.”

“You could go in and introduce yourself.”

Piper shrugged, “I figure this has to be a big deal for him, so. I'll wait another ten minutes.”

Nick chuckled, “Well, as long as you enjoy yourself. Tarberries are almost gone.”

Piper gasped and hurried inside. Nick sighed at Preston's glance back at the mess hall. “He's going to be fine. And he knows where to find you if he needs you.”

Preston sighed, and looked away. “I know. Just…”

“Worried about your boyfriend, I get it. I'm having a hell of a time letting Holmes and Hancock talk without hovering, and I even like Hancock. You have no such reassurance from miss Scribe. Come on, let's get a swallow of hooch in you and a ridiculous conversation about nothing important.”

Preston smiled, and followed.

 ***

Hancock pulled a long swig from the bottle he'd grabbed from Al's storage. “That is the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard come out of your mouth, and I once had a full fucking conversation with the Silver Shroud.”

Holmes grinned, “I am perfectly serious. The man actually had the egotistical gall to expect a snake to obey his commands.”

They were leaning against a wall of one of the houses, watching the party as Holmes talked about cases he solved as a detective before the War. Deacon was sitting on the ground on the other side of Holmes, shaking with silent laughter.

“Wait, so,” Deacon managed to breathe, “this guy decides murder by poisonous snake is clearly the best way to go, puts a snake in the girl's bed, and then expects it to come back to him with some snake charming trick?”

“The ironic thing is it worked. It took a few tries, but it escaped the room every night without being seen until the night it bit her.”

“Holy shit.”

“Her sister came to me when she started to fear for her own life.”

“Fuck,” Hancock handed the bottle to Deacon and switched to jet, “so how'd you get 'im?”

MacCready came over, “Has anyone seen the kids?”

“They're engaged in a ferocious bout of tag,” Holmes said. “Running is keeping the chill off them, and Shaun and Nat go easy on Duncan whenever he's 'it.’” He gestured to the open area by the river where a couple lights had been set up and Codsworth could be seen hovering watchfully around the three children. Dogmeat alternated between running with them and standing guard.

MacCready was relieved. “Oh. Good.”

“Relax, Mac,” Hancock said, “your kid's safe as can be with this crowd.”

“I know,” MacCready took the bottle Deacon held up to him. “Hard to keep that in mind.”

“Wanna hear Detective finish a story about a man who murdered his stepdaughter with a snake?” Deacon said.

“... What?”

 ***

Danse and Haylen left the mess hall and came across Sturges and Curie. Curie was thrilled to meet Haylen. “A Brotherhood Scribe! This is so exciting, I have always wanted a chance to compare notes with another of a scientific mindset. Do you have a specialty?”

Haylen was stunned, “Well, I mostly do field work, salvaging technology and taking notes on locations.”

“Curie's the town medic,” Danse supplied.

“She's the town scientist,” Sturges corrected, “knows about more than just medicine.”

“The Lt. Colonel did not mean offense,” Curie said, “he was merely being concise and accurate.”

“And I'm not being offended,” Sturges said with a smile as he put his arm around her. “Just bragging about you because I know you won't do it yourself.”

Danse glanced around the crowd outside while Curie and Haylen talked. He spotted Preston standing under the tree, its red and green lights casting him in a soft strange glow. Preston was talking to the reporter… who glanced around, spotted Danse, and waved.

“Lt. Colonel, come here! I have a burning question readers want to know.”

Danse sighed. He did not share Preston's romantic notions of the benefits of a free press, but he admitted Piper had been respectful of his wishes to keep his name out of her publication, and Holmes spoke well of her. Perhaps more importantly, so did Shaun. So, he walked over to stand beside Preston. “What is it, Piper?”

“How committed are the two of you to upholding tradition?”

Danse's brow furrowed. “What?”

Preston was also confused, “I guess that depends on the tradition…?”

They heard Valentine laughing.

Piper was speaking louder than necessary, “I have it on good authority that the bit of fake sprig you're now standing under is meant to be something called ‘mistletoe.’”

Preston and Danse looked at each other blankly as the conversations quieted all around them.

Holmes's voice carried across the crowd, “You're supposed to kiss the person standing beside you beneath it!”

There was an eruption of laughter and good-natured jeers. Piper quickly stepped back, ridiculously pleased with herself.

Danse was embarrassed to have his affection put on display in such a way for all of two seconds, because that was how long it took for him to notice Preston smiling like a schoolboy caught with his crush. Danse held Preston's hand, “Permission to follow tradition, sir?”

Preston laughed, “Granted.”

He did love to see Preston happy. Danse lightly placed two fingers under Preston's jaw as he kissed him, Preston's arm around him pulling him closer, the crowd's cheer turning to applause as Danse held his lover to him.

Haylen almost jumped in surprise when she heard a new voice behind her, “Are you more surprised to see someone kissing a synth, or that someone’s kissing Danse?”

“I'm surprised he's the one who initiated…” she turned around and gasped. “Oh.”

The synth in a trench coat and hat had expected that reaction. “The name's Nick. Nick Valentine.”

She glanced around and saw Sturges and Curie were talking with Danse and Preston near the tree. She was on her own. “You were with Holmes when he came back… the day Danse took him to the Prydwen.”

“I was, and more besides,” the synth nodded.

“You're a… detective?”

“I am.” Nick lit a cigarette, to Haylen's confusion. “You're the Scribe that risked her career, if not her life, to save a synth.”

“I risked it to save Danse.”

He seemed… amused? “Mm. An important distinction.” A cloud of smoke drifted through the gaping hole in his neck, past exposed circuitry. “I'm glad you're here. Good for the newer recruits to see not everyone in the Brotherhood is beyond redemption.”

Haylen almost forgot her discomfort. “Redemption?” she demanded, mildly offended and very confused.

“Danse is popular. His soldiers are loyal to the cause, and loyal to him. As far as they're concerned, the Brotherhood are the jackasses who ruined their beloved leader's life.”

“You talk about the Minutemen as if they were separate.”

“Heh. I may be their General’s partner, but make no mistake. I'm just a detective. Been one for a hundred years, might make it another fifty if I don't fall apart.”

None of this conversation made sense. “You're… different from other Gen2 models.”

“I'm a prototype, and a discontinued experiment at that.”

They were interrupted by the hurried arrival of a ten year old boy with black hair, “Nick?”

“Yeah?” he smiled.

“Can I have snack cake?”

“That depends on how many you've already had.”

“... Three.”

“Nope.”

Shaun sighed, and ran off.

“At least he'll be tired out tonight,” Nick mused. “That was Shaun, Holmes’s son.”

“Oh!” Haylen smiled, “I'm glad he found him. He seems like he's adjusted well.”

“He's a good kid,” Nick nodded, and grinned as Danse made his way over, leaving Preston talking to Sturges. “Good evening, Danse.”

“Valentine. I see you met Haylen.”

“I did. I don't understand how someone so pleasant to talk to could have served under your command for so long,” he joked.

Danse's brow rose in dry amusement, “If rumors are to be believed, I was a popular officer and still am.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Nick laughed.

Then Hancock ambled up. “Evenin’.”

“Hancock,” Danse and Nick said in unison, the 'what are you up to’ unspoken.

Hancock grinned, “Relax, not here to cause trouble.” To Haylen, he said, “The name's Hancock. Mayor of Goodneighbor.”

Haylen was wary. “I've heard about Goodneighbor.”

“Cesspool of criminals and ghouls, that sort of thing?”

“More or less.”

It was hard to tell if Hancock was pleased or simply unsurprised. “Well, if you're willing to lower yourself to spend time in the company of a ghoul, a not-quite-reformed mercenary, and a synth sympathizer, we could use another for poker.”

Haylen blinked. “And you're asking me?”

“Crew-cut's a sore loser, and Nick's poker face is impossible to break. Besides, he always plays it safe, never tries any big bluffs.”

Danse frowned, “I played poker with you once, Hancock, and you cheated. Hence the 'sore losing.’”

“How would you know I never try for a big bluff if my poker face is so good?” Nick asked. “Maybe I'm bluffing the whole time. Besides, you're playing with Deacon.”

Hancock shrugged, “He gets chatty when he's got nothin’, but don't tell MacCready that.”

Haylen thought for a moment, and decided to take a leap, “Alright. I'll try a hand.”

Hancock beamed, “No shit? Ha! Deacon owes me twenty caps. Shall we?” He offered his elbow, which she pointedly ignored, making him laugh.

“This is going to end poorly,” Danse muttered.

“She seems like she can take care if herself,” Nick said.

“It's not Haylen I'm worried about. And no,” he cut Nick off, “I don't think she's going to shoot Hancock, but they've never played cards with Scribe Haylen.”

Nick's response was cut off by cheers around the crowd as Curie pulled an embarrassed Sturges under the mistletoe. It had been her idea, but he definitely wasn't complaining.

 ***

Preston applauded as General Holmes came over. “Preston, I have to thank you. The evening has been quite the success.”

“Thank you, General,” Preston was happy and relieved, “I'm glad to hear it.”

“I honestly didn't expect such an event. It was brilliant to have the whole town involved. Everyone is enjoying themselves. You went above and beyond.”

Preston internally kicked himself for overreacting earlier, but soaked up the praise. “A lot of people helped make it happen.”

“Indeed, but don't discount your own contribution. Something like this takes a great deal of planning and coordination. Shall we join our significant others?”

Nick and Danse smiled when they saw them coming. Nick reached for Holmes's hand, and Danse lightly rested his arm around Preston's waist. “Holmes,” Danse said, “thank you for bringing Haylen here. It's good to see her again, and I think it's been good for her to see this place.”

“You are very welcome, Danse. Did I just see her with Hancock?”

“She accepted his offer to play poker.”

“Ah. He has no idea what he's in for, does he?”

Danse grinned, with unbridled mischief. “None at all.”

Cheers went up all around as Marcy and Jun took a turn under the mistletoe and Al handed out hot drinks. “Night's getting colder,” he said. “Gonna have to head in soon, so make merry while you can.”

A parade of couples were spurred into kissing under the mistletoe, each earning an increasingly tipsy cheer. A small crowd assembled around the poker match, where Haylen was winning. A child's voice echoed across the party, “Dad!”

Holmes and MacCready automatically responded “What is it?”

The speaker was more clearly Shaun now, “Codsworth said we should go to bed!”

“He's correct,” Holmes said.

“You too, Duncan,” MacCready called over his shoulder before putting his cards down with a sigh, “Need to stop anyway before the Brotherhood bankrupts me.”

“But we're not tired!” Duncan yawned.

Nick laughed, “Come on, kids.” He led the way to the house, “You’re all set up in Shaun's old room for the night so we can keep an eye on you. It’s called a sleepover. Duncan’s dad volunteered to take first watch. Nat! Come on.”

“Piiiiiiiper!”

Piper glanced up from her notebook, “You heard him. Nicky’s practically an honorary uncle with all the time you and Shaun spend together.”

“Piper, you flatter me,” Nick smiled as Nat joined Shaun and Duncan inside.

Codsworth drifted over to where MacCready was settling into place on the steps. “Mr. MacCready, if you like -”

“I got first watch, Codsworth, don't worry about it. It's, uh. More for my own peace of mind than anything.”

“I completely understand.”

“But if you want to bring me something to eat and a Nuka-Cola…”

“Of course sir!” Codsworth sailed off.

 ***

The cold came fast, cutting the outdoor festivity short. Everyone helped clean up the mess hall, leaving the decorations up around town to worry about in the morning. Haylen found Danse and Preston helping Al get leftover stock back inside his store.

“I take it you did well?” Danse asked.

“I did,” Haylen grinned. “It was fun.”

“I can't even be mad at her,” Deacon mumbled as he passed by, “damn good work.”

The hiss of a jet inhaler announced Hancock. “You knew she was a card shark the whole time, didn't you, Danse.”

“Of course.”

“Well hell, serves me right for making assumptions. You ever want a partner for a grift, you come find me,” Hancock said, and laughed when Haylen didn't know what to say.

“He's… a bit terrifying,” she admitted to Danse as Hancock walked away.

Danse's response fell silent as the whole settlement slowly stopped what they were doing. Everyone watched as the General of the Minutemen stepped beneath the mistletoe.

Holmes hardly heard the hush that fell over the crowd. This was utterly ridiculous… but Valentine was smiling as he put out his cigarette. Holmes removed his hat as his partner joined him, and gladly lost himself in the tender kiss that followed. Applause erupted. Valentine was beaming; Holmes imagined he looked much the same.

*** 

Haylen stared, “He's…”

“They love each other a great deal,” Danse said.

“He's a machine!”

“So am I.”

“But not… I mean…”

“The metal is unnerving, but the person inside it is no less for it. It took me some time to realize that.”

Haylen frowned, “I don't understand.”

“Neither do I, to be perfectly honest, and yet it is clearly true.”

Haylen tried to think about that. Holmes and his synth were talking to the reporter, hand in hand. She could _not_ understand. Preston finished helping Al get his store arranged and kissed Danse, short and sweet, with a “I'll be right back.”

That was another thing she didn't understand, but one thing was obviously true. “I'm glad you're happy, Danse.”

He was surprised, and touched. “Thank you, Haylen.”

“Is your Colonel a good officer?”

“He is, and I mean that objectively.”

“I know,” Haylen smiled. "You'd never lie about a soldier's abilities just because you like them.” She looked around the settlement and nodded to herself, “I'm glad I came.”

“So am I.”

 ***

Holmes and Valentine joined Danse and Preston as they said goodbye to Haylen.

“Almost feel bad for the fella waiting for you all this time,” Valentine said.

Haylen was alarmed for a moment, “Oh, the pilot. He probably spent the night reading the Codex. Bringing him along was the only way Maxson approved me coming.”

“Has there been any trouble since my 'death?’” Danse asked.

“Rhys is bitter, doesn't talk to me any more. Throws himself into as many assignments as he can, like he has to prove treason's not contagious. I just do my job.”

“If you ever wanted to work for someone else…” Preston offered, but Haylen shook her head.

“Thanks, Colonel, but I keep hoping that one day we'll go back to the Capital Wasteland, where we can actually be useful again.”

“Is Maxson going to interrogate you when you get back?” Holmes asked.

“I don't know that I'd say interrogate. He'll definitely ask some questions, make it look official. I don't think he'll come looking for Danse, if that's what you're worried about.”

Valentine was skeptical. “Hmph. Arthur Maxson deciding to let Danse live in peace is as likely as it starting to snow.”

“He hasn't done anything yet,” Holmes said, “and we'll do everything we can to keep it that way.”

Goodbyes were said, and everyone hurried inside as a chill wind blew. Residents returned home, guests to the visitor’s quarters, all except one still on the step of Holmes’s old home.

“Mr. MacCready, it isn't necessary that you remain on guard duty all night,” Holmes said.

“I know, Boss, but -”

“I don't sleep,” Valentine said. “Get some shut-eye on the sofa. First sign of trouble, you're the first one I wake.”

MacCready frowned, “I'll come inside because it's cold as fu- heck, but I don't know if I'm going to sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

MacCready sat on the sofa, rifle across his lap, and Holmes and Valentine retired to their room. “Do you think the children will be warm enough?” Holmes asked. “The temperature dropped quickly.”

“They're all piled together under blankets, they'll be fine.” Valentine watched his partner get ready for bed, “Glad Haylen showed up.”

“So am I. I wasn't sure she'd be able to. Would you like to see your Christmas present now or in the morning?"

“Present? Well, don't keep me in suspense.” Valentine blinked as Holmes bought out a box from under the bed. “How the hell did you get that here without me knowing?” Holmes just smiled, and Valentine sighed as he opened the box, “Fine, don't tell me… huh?” He pulled out a trench coat. The fabric was a bit worn but the stitching was solid and all in one piece, unlike the patchwork one he currently wore. “How on earth…”

“You once asked if I could whip up a new coat to go with your new hat. It helps to know a seamstress.”

“New… you remembered that from February?”

“Of course.”

Valentine chuckled, “Of course.” He tried on the coat. “Perfect fit. Thanks, partner. Oh, your gift is in the left inner pocket of my old coat.”

Holmes searched, “A pipe!”

“Tobacco's in the other pocket, but I make no promises regarding quality.”

“Ha! Valentine… amazing, thank you.”

Valentine kissed him, “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

Holmes smiled, “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

 ***

“Haylen seems alright.”

Danse smirked as he tossed another blanket onto the bed. “High praise from you concerning a member of the Brotherhood.”

“Yeah, well,” Preston shrugged as he hung up his coat and hat, “Saved your life, so she must be a decent person.”

“Haylen is an exceptional soldier. I never knew how good a friend she was until that day.”

“You think she'd ever leave the Brotherhood?”

“I don't think so. She is devoted to the cause, the preventing humanity's self-destruction part, but I know the brutality of some missions bothered her a great deal. Most of all, she wants to go home.”

Preston nodded as he dropped his scarf onto the chair. “I was a little jealous to see you hugging someone else at first.”

Danse laughed, “What?”

“I didn't know who she was! It was dumb, but you never do that sort of thing.” He shook his head, “Why did I tell you that?”

Danse kissed him with a smile, “You're cute when you're flustered.”

Preston was skeptical, “Cute?”

“Very.” Danse held him in a longer kiss. “I suggest we get in bed to keep warm.”

Preston grinned, “Yes, sir.”

 ***

Haylen shivered as she climbed inside the vertibird. The hard gaze of the bearded young man in the pilot's seat with a scar down his face did nothing to dispel the cold.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Scribe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you learn anything useful?”

“They're recruiting from all over the Commonwealth. The men in command are sincerely dedicated to helping people. The Minutemen aren't a threat.”

Elder Maxson scowled, “Apart from their leniency regarding synths. They're almost as bad as the Railroad. I don't want to declare Holmes banished from the Brotherhood, but there are rumors of his relationship with that machine.”

“The rumors are true.”

Maxson sneered, “Disgusting. I am fully aware that a war with the Minutemen would be remarkably costly; they have artillery power capable of bringing down the Prydwen, but they continue to represent ideals the Brotherhood is against.”

“I'm sure Holmes could be persuaded to formally resign, sir,” Haylen cautiously ventured, “and maybe the truce could be maintained?”

“I appreciate the concern, Scribe, but I'm afraid that would be far too little. I'll decide what course of action to take later.” He paused, and asked, “Did you meet the Minutemen’s mysterious Lieutenant Colonel?”

Haylen hesitated. “Yes, sir.” Could she lie to him? Surely he wouldn't directly attack Sanctuary? Valentine's comment about the chances of Maxson leaving Danse alone echoed through her mind. “He seems to be doing an admirable job training the troops. They're very loyal to him. He's respected, and… and he's happy. That doesn't mean much for my report,” she hurried to add, “but it's worth noting that Minutemen morale is up, no matter the rank.”

They sat for a tense, silent moment, Maxson’s focus somewhere else. Then he said, “I see.”

Maxson didn't ask for anymore information about the Lt. Colonel. The vertibird lifted into the air, and headed east.

*** 

Codsworth pulled a blanket over Mr. MacCready asleep on the sofa. The children were snuggled warm together, Dogmeat at their feet, and Mr. Valentine read a book in bed as he held a sleeping Mr. Holmes close. Seeing all was well in the house, Codsworth drifted outside and brought a cup of hot water flavored with a bit of fruit to all the Minutemen on guard duty and made the same circuit he'd made all those years after the War, waiting for his family to come home.

All was quiet in Sanctuary. It started to snow.


	14. Welcome Home, Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse escorts Holmes and family back to Sanctuary. Preston is happy to see him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I went ahead and put this before the Christmas chapter, but then I thought that might actually be more confusing. So Christmas can stay put as a break from the story, and now we return you to the side plot!
> 
> Oh, and as you may have guessed, this chapter contains Danse/Preston smut. :)

Danse had not anticipated walking back to Sanctuary in the company of his General's family, but was pleasantly surprised by the experience. Shaun oscillated between exuberant innocence and attentive obedience. He clearly loved being out in the world, but he also knew it was dangerous and followed directions from all adults. The dog was an asset as well, refusing to be distracted and alerting them to oncoming creatures multiple times. Valentine and Holmes both drew Danse into their conversations about everything from musical tastes to preferred fighting styles.

It was evening as they crossed the bridge into Sanctuary. The guard on duty saluted with a smile, “Welcome home, Lt. Colonel. And General! Good to have you and your family back, sir.”

Home. Danse thanked the guard, saw that Holmes and his family were stopping by Curie's clinic to socialize, and made his way to headquarters. He needed to report to his commanding officer.

Garvey was leaned over the desk, glaring at his maps. When he looked up and saw Danse in the doorway, he smiled. The sheer joy and relief on Preston’s face made Danse’s breath catch.

That was unexpected. He cleared his throat, “Lieutenant Colonel Danse reporting, Colonel.” That hadn't sounded nearly as confident as it should have.

Preston’s smile didn’t waver, but his manner clearly shifted to ‘professional.’ “I’m glad to see it. Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” He had to glance away to refocus. You’re still a soldier, Danse. That old desk wouldn’t hold much weight anyway - “Do you want a formal report?”

At least Garvey had the grace not to laugh. “Quick summary will do. How was the Castle?”

Danse was thankful for a topic to focus on, and stepped further into the room. “It's an impressive structure. Shaw introduced me to everyone currently stationed there, and presented the armory. It's more substantial than I realized.”

Garvey was pleased, and proud. “Any problems?”

“In the Castle, no.” The thought came unbidden, “Were you aware that there used to be a super mutant stationed there?”

Garvey sighed, “Met Strong, huh?”

Danse frowned. “I haven't yet and hope I never will.”

“Yeah. Nearly shot him when he lumbered up to the Castle, until we saw him wave a scrap of white cloth. 'Human leader Holmes say white make shooting stop. Strong here for milk of human kindness.’”

Danse couldn't believe it, “And you let him in?”

Garvey shrugged, “Put him to work hauling stone to repair the walls. Sent him out hunting a few times. Kept a close eye on him, didn't let him anywhere near the armory, but he also didn't seem that interested either. Finally managed to get the whole story out of him, the Shakespeare thing. He mostly kept to himself. Great against raiders, though. First time a group tried to cause trouble, half of them actually turned and ran when Strong came charging out, swinging a sledgehammer… this isn't helping you at all, is it?”

Danse took a breath, “I suppose it's fortunate he was an asset, but I do not approve of a super mutant… existing at all, to be bluntly honest.”

“I know, Danse.” The fact that he _did_ know was the only reason Danse was willing to listen. “But he's not at the Castle anymore, and there haven't been any issues in any settlement he's been to, once people get over the initial shock at least. I have no problem wiping super mutants off the face of the earth, but Strong seems like he’s serious about helping us for now.”

Danse’s frown didn’t lessen. “I'll just try not to think about it.”

Preston stepped forward, and stopped himself. Danse wondered what the impulse had been. “But what about the rest, you went all the way down to Murkwater, right?”

“Yes. The scientists have attracted some settlers and built a basic but efficient settlement.”

“What were they like? The scientists?”

“Tired. They've accepted that this is their life now, but it was clear they were glad to have a problem to work on, a way to put their skills to use. I didn't interact with them much.”

Preston tread carefully, “There wasn't anything you wanted to ask?”

“There was no sign of recognition when they saw my face, so I doubt they would know how or when I escaped. Beyond that, there is nothing the remains of the Institute can offer me.”

Preston nodded, and shifted the subject, “Were they able to help Nick?”

“Only enough to get him here. For the rest, Holmes is sending for a specialist of a sort.”

Preston was confused. “Wait. Here?”

“Ah, gentlemen,” Holmes was suddenly moving past Danse into the room. “You're both here, good.”

“General,” Garvey greeted him, “Danse said you brought Nick up here?”

“Yes. He's getting Shaun settled -”

“Shaun's here too?”

General Holmes smiled a little, “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Valentine is… breaking down.” Had Danse not spent the past several days in Holmes's company, he would never have guessed the depths of worry that simple phrase held. “The scientists in Murkwater are unable to fully repair him, because they've never seen a prototype synth before. They didn't even know there was ever an attempt at using what became the Gen-2 synths as a base for what would become the Gen-3s. So, I want to try to bring someone to the Commonwealth who might be able to help.”

“Makes sense,” Garvey nodded. “Who is it?”

“His name is Faraday. He lives in a settlement called Acadia on an island far to the north. To get there, you'll have to borrow a boat from Kenji Nakano, on the northern coast.” Holmes grinned, “I'll mark it on your map.”

Garvey laughed a little, “Guess I'm going.”

“I'm sending both you and Danse. Not only do I trust you, but I want to show the people of the island the best of the Minutemen in the hope of setting up some trade later on.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garvey was stunned. “We'll do our best.”

General Holmes gave a few more details about what to do when they arrived and warned them about the island's unique wildlife. They would leave at first daylight in the morning.

“I'll leave you two to plan your route,” Holmes said on his way out, “Though I feel speed is of the essence for purely personal reasons, I also don't want you to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Don't worry General,” Garvey said. “We'll get it done.” Danse smiled at the pure confidence in his voice.

“I know you will,” Holmes said, grateful, and left.

Preston was instantly focused on the maps. He whistled, low. “That's a long walk.”

“It is,” Danse said, stepping closer to look over Preston's shoulder. They suggested a few possibilities to each other, but Garvey grew more and more monosyllabic with each one. “Are you alright?”

He shrugged and cleared his throat, “Just a little distracting, having you so close.”

Danse grinned, “I like when you're this close.”

“The General's counting on us, we should…” He was interrupted by a growling stomach.

Danse's brow rose, “Colonel, when was the last time you ate?”

“This morning,” Garvey huffed, then paused and looked out the window at the setting sun. “... Oh.”

Danse sighed, “The rest of the recruits will be in the mess anyway, we may as well join them. Starving yourself won't help anybody.”

“I wasn't trying to,” Garvey grumbled as they left, “just busy.”

Danse smiled, “I know.”

The recruits weren't the only ones gathered in the mess hall. Holmes and his family were there, too. Holmes made a point of visiting with everyone he knew the names of, and then introduced himself to all the rest. Shaun was sitting half on Valentine's lap as they talked to Sturges and Curie. Dogmeat circled around everyone searching for hands to pet him or slip him a scrap from the table.

The recruits present greeted Danse enthusiastically, and soon he was listening to stories of Garvey's… unorthodox training techniques. Well, they'd be in for even stranger lessons from Holmes, Danse was sure. Though he had to admit, he liked the idea of Garvey's game. With some restructuring, it could be quite effective as an alternative to running drills.

Preston endured the mild teasing of his training with a laugh, and watched Danse with a small smile the whole evening. It was good to have his friend back, and even better to see him safe and happy. The crowd around them had surprised Danse, his popularity clear for everyone to see. They respected him, hell they liked him, and now he was home.

The night wore on, and a few Minutemen asked Danse's opinion on a hypothetical battle scenario. Apparently this was a long argument and Danse was being called upon as a neutral party. Preston listened, amused, as Danse passed judgement and two of the group high-fived. More discussion followed, but now that the focus was no longer on him, Danse turned to Preston.

“Colonel, we should attempt to make some sort of plan for the mission tomorrow.”

Preston blinked. Now? “Sure.” He stood, “I figure we'll make it to Tenpines Bluff and just head east from there, but there's not much by way of civilization beyond Outpost Zimonja.”

Danse led the way out the door, “We'll improvise. Are you at all familiar with the northernmost coast?”

“Never been there myself,” the door closed behind them, the street empty. “Head back to headquarters or…?”

“I have a map of the Commonwealth in my quarters,” Danse said, headed that way. “I thought it more efficient to make our plans there instead of going to your office first, only to go to my quarters afterward.”

“Right,” Preston honestly wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, “and why would I need to walk over to your house afterward?”

“To fuck.”

“... Oh.” He hurried after him. “You could have just said 'let's get out of here,’” Preston said softly with a smile.

“I could have,” Danse grinned, “but then I wouldn’t have seen the look on your face just now.”

Preston went in while Danse secured his armor, his hat, scarf, and coat tossed on the chair before Danse was behind him, pulling him close. Preston sighed happily, tension melting. “Missed you,” he muttered.

Danse paused, surprised. He took a deep breath, the scent of soap warring with eternal sweat and dust on Preston's skin more comforting than he'd realized before. He held Preston a little tighter, his voice soft as he admitted, “I missed you, too.”

Preston turned a little, craning his neck to try and see behind him, “Really?”

“Really.” He lightly kissed Preston's neck and deadpanned, “Your constant presence in my bed has made me unfit for travel, it’s impossible for me to sleep without it.”

Preston snorted and elbowed Danse in the side with a smile. He turned to face him, an arm around Danse's waist while his other hand toyed with Danse's hair. “Still want to look at maps?”

Danse smiled, and slowly shook his head. “That would be wise of us to do; starting a mission without a clear plan is irresponsible,” he kissed Preston's mouth, “but I don't want to at the moment, no.”

“What if we just take the map with us,” Preston's breath caught as Danse's teeth scraped the spot where his neck met his jaw, “and finish planning once we get to Tenpines?”

“Mm. That's acceptable.”

“Glad you agree…” Preston muttered as Danse's hands slid in opposite directions, one moving up his spine to the back of his head, holding him in place as Danse's tongue explored his mouth, the other moving down to clutch his ass and hold him close against Danse's hips.

Danse grunted against Preston's mouth, “You must be uncomfortable.” Preston made a small sound of agreement as the pressure on his cock was released, and then softly moaned as Danse's hand pressed against him instead. “So hard already?”

“Like I said… missed you…” he gasped into Danse's mouth as fingers dipped under his waistband to brush the tip of his cock, “Danse, please…”

“Please?”

“Fuck me,” Preston begged, “Any way you want, just…” He was silenced by Danse's tongue, his hard kiss completely claiming Preston's mouth.

“Strip down, and get on the bed,” Danse ordered, “hands in position.”

Preston tossed his clothes to the floor and scrambled into bed as Danse slowly undressed. Preston watched as Danse removed his shirt with a smirk… oh god, he was _stripping_ for him.

“Hands, Preston.” Preston put his hands above his head so fast he hit the crossbar. Danse smiled, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Preston mumbled, too fascinated with the way Danse kept flexing as he moved to be much embarrassed.

Danse wiggled out of his pants, his erection gloriously obvious through his briefs, “You seem distracted.”

“You are such a fucking tease.”

Danse's eyes flashed with amusement, “You seem to be enjoying it,” he said with a pointed look at Preston's cock. Preston writhed, an automatic reaction, aching for everything. Danse removed his briefs, slowly stroking his cock with a soft moan, laughing softly at the sound of want from Preston's throat.

Then he slowly picked up Preston's scarf.

Preston's pulse pounded. “What… um.”

Danse blushed. “I'd like to tie your hands to the bed.”

That was new. “Ok…”

“If at any time you want me to stop, tell me.”

Preston nodded, “I know. You always say that.”

“Because it's important.” He slowly wrapped the scarf around Preston's wrists, tying him to the center of the crossbar, “The things you let me do to you… is it too tight?”

“No.”

“Is it secure?”

Preston tried to move his arms. There was some give, but not much. “Do this to all your lovers?”

Danse blinked, and then smiled softly, “No.” He straddled Preston and kissed him, “You look amazing.”

“Thanks…” Preston's breath was heavy as Danse slowly moved down his body, lips and teeth leaving a trail of red marks and small bruises in their wake. Preston watched Danse pull the small jar of oil from the bedside drawer. He shivered in anticipation as Danse dipped a finger into the jar, and swore in ecstasy as the finger entered, “Fuck yes babe…” he whispered, eyes closed as Danse moved inside him. It felt so good, his hands were so good, mouth and tongue and cock and fuck he wanted all of it - His eyes shot open as a second finger entered, making him moan, making Danse smile, grunting as he stroked his cock with his other hand.

“Can you take three?” he asked.

Preston nodded without thinking, breathless. His jaw fell open, head back as he was stuffed, as Danse's fingers twisted inside him, rearranged to push as far in as possible before moving again.

“Good job,” Danse softly said. “You take my fingers so easy.”

Preston's head spun as Danse moved inside, his weight heavy over him. His breath came shorter. Something was off. He'd wanted this, it felt good and intense and, and then it… didn't. His arms pulled, but the knot held tight. “Danse?”

“I should have reconsidered the position,” he licked Preston’s cock, “put you -”

“Danse, stop.”

Danse immediately sat up. Preston suddenly remembered to breathe as Danse carefully pulled his fingers out, “What do you need?”

Preston swallowed hard, “Untie me?”

Danse did so and sat back again, a careful distance from Preston. “Are you alright?”

Preston shook his head a little, his heart pounding, “Sorry… sorry -”

“Don't be.”

There was nothing but worry on Danse’s face. Somehow that made Preston feel a little better. Preston reached for him, “You don't have to not touch me.”

Danse smiled and held his hand, “I wanted to be sure.”

“Thanks.” Preston pulled Danse down to lie beside him, “First time I said stop.”

“It's fine,” Danse carefully put his arm around him, encouraged by the way Preston pressed against his chest. “I was perfectly serious all those times I told you to stop me.”

Preston nodded, “Yeah,” he took a deep breath, “ok.”

“Are you ok?” Danse frowned as Preston nodded, “I can feel your heart racing. Preston, did I hurt you -”

“No,” it was the first time he'd heard even the slightest trace of panic in Danse's voice and he couldn't bear it, “no, I'm ok,” he took a deep breath, “I'm good now, or I will be, just… a lot, right then. Not sure why.”

“Wanting to stop is sufficient reason, further explanation isn't necessary. But if you do want to talk about anything, I'll listen.”

Preston smiled, “I know.”

They lay silently a moment before Danse quietly said, “At least you seem calmer.”

“I am. I promise, I'm alright.”

“Good.”

“Danse?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Do you need anything?"

"No. Just be here for a while.” Preston softly sighed, "I'm glad you're home."

Danse held his lover close and kissed his cheek, “So am I.” After a silent moment, he asked, "Are you falling asleep?"

"Probably," Preston muttered with a smile.

Danse chuckled and got up to put out the light and wash his hands, pulling a blanket over them as he got back into bed. After a moment, he said, “I have some suggestions for your training program.”

Preston laughed, “Shut up.”

“I'm serious,” Danse smiled.

“I know.” Preston kissed him, “Tell me on the way to Tenpines.”

“Goodnight, Preston.”

“Goodnight, babe.”


	15. A Thing For Antiques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While visiting Sanctuary, Valentine and Holmes have an intimate evening after their son goes to sleep.

Nick pulled the screwdriver from his pocket without even thinking about it. His metal right hand reflected the light of the lamp in the living room of Holmes's house in Sanctuary. The man in question sat beside him on his left, smoking a cigarette, unable to decide whether he was restless or exhausted. Shaun was asleep in his childhood bedroom… “the original’s” flitted through his head for a moment, an idea he firmly tossed away. He knew what it was like to learn you're just a copy, that your life wasn't really yours. Shaun would never have to feel that way. If there was any justice in the world, that kid would grow up knowing he was his own person, genetic technicalities be damned. Hell, he was already far and away unique from the man that became the Director of the Institute. For starters, Shaun had Holmes for a father. And, Nick hoped, Shaun had him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Nick blinked, and looked at Holmes. “Not worth anything these days,” he joked.

Holmes did that small smile of his, the one where just a corner of his mouth turns up to show he's amused. “A cap, then.”

“Just thinking about our son -” he laughed a little, amazed. “Still can't get used to that. 'Our son.’”

Holmes put out his cigarette and moved closer. “He loves you.” Holmes took the screwdriver and reached across Nick for his metal hand, “As do I.”

Holmes slowly pulled Nick's hand toward him, shifting their position until he was leaning against Nick, Nick's arm across him. Once settled, he carefully started tightening each screw in Nick's hand.

“Feels strange, letting someone else do that,” Nick said, soft.

“Is it unpleasant?”

Nick smiled, “Might be with someone else, but with you… huh. Your heart’s beating awful quick.”

“Curious,” Holmes said with the slightest of smirks.

“Can't be due to physical activity. And I've been with you the whole evening, so I know it's not chems or alcohol.” That got a quick bark of laughter from his partner. “Only leaves the possibility that it's my arms around you that's got you worked up. But that can’t be right, can it?”

“If you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

He’d even said it with a straight face. “That's a ‘yes,' then.” Nick took the screwdriver back, setting it on the end table. He opened and closed his metal hand, “Feels just about right.” 

A single finger brushed Holmes's jaw, trailing down his neck. Nick could feel the way the man in his arms forced himself not to shiver. Anyone else, Nick would have assumed they were hiding repulsion, trying to be kind. But Holmes? He was just being stubborn. 

“What are you doing?”

“Touching you,” Nick grinned. “Thought that was obvious, detective.”

That got a smile out of him. “A fair criticism. I shouldn't let such paltry distractions -”

“Paltry?” That just about sealed it. “Must not be doing this right.”

“This?” Holmes watched Nick's hand slide down to the buttons of his vest, remaining still as they were undone, “… ah. You have a goal in mind?”

Nick started on the shirt buttons next, “Hearing you say my name like you're begging.”

“Beg?” Holmes scoffed, “Me?”

“Seem to recall you begging an awful lot in that room in Far Harbor.”

“I did not beg.”

“Maybe it's an English thing,” Nick chuckled. He'd only undone the top half of the shirt, but that was enough for now. “Around here, ‘don't stop Nick please’ counts as begging.”

“I said that once…” this time he didn't hide the shiver as Nick ran his fingers across his chest, “… because you were worried.”

“I'd never heard you gasp like that before. Thought I'd hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me.”

The words were so certain, Nick was taken aback. “Didn't take you to be the sappy romantic type.”

“I'm not. It's a simple statement of fact. You would never do anything to hurt me.”

Nick was suddenly very aware of the exposed metal joints on his partner's skin. “… might without trying,” he said, quiet.

Holmes heard the worry Nick wished wasn't there. He turned to face him on the sofa, a hand holding Nick's to his chest, “As if flesh and blood never causes accidental harm to the same?” He smiled, bemused, as he lifted Nick's hand from his chest to his mouth for a kiss. “I am undone by letting go, letting the man I love have my complete trust, mind, soul, and body. He just happens to be made of metal.”

Nick blinked, and pulled Holmes to him in a kiss. He smiled to feel it returned, Holmes's tongue seeking his, damn it was incredible to think it didn't matter what he was made of. He managed to finish opening Holmes's shirt before Holmes suddenly pulled away. 

“Valentine, you're in no condition -”

“Shoulda thought of that earlier,” Nick smiled. “Goodness, partner says things like that…” He pulled him close again, a quick kiss of his mouth before gently nibbling at his neck. “Besides, I don't think there's a recovery period for mechanical repairs.”

Metal teeth scraped Holmes's ear, the cold steel of his partner's hand sliding along his chest, down his stomach and further. “Shaun -”

“Won't hear a thing if we're quiet. Kid could sleep through a second apocalypse.”

A quick intake of breath was the only sign of the effect Nick's hand was having on Holmes, aside from the obvious physical reaction growing steadily. Holmes's voice was quiet, “Nick…”

Nick chuckled warmly against Holmes's mouth, “See? Begging already.”

Nick laughed at Holmes's eyeroll of exasperation and leaned him back until he was lying down on the sofa, tugging lightly on the waist of his pants. “Lift,” he said, and Holmes did, permitting everything to be removed. Nick shrugged off his coat, set his hat on the end table, and took his partner into his mouth.

The tiniest of groans came from Holmes as his head fell back. Nick's mouth was cool compared to a human’s, the contrast of his tongue moving against warm flesh creating a tingling sensation that emanated up Holmes's spine. Valentine started to move, the hand that still had skin applying pressure just enough to tease as his head slowly moved up and down.

Holmes didn't quite swallow his moan in time. Nick made a sound like a muffled laugh, and soon Holmes felt something smooth constrict around the tip of him… and further… he looked down and realized the constriction was Nick's throat. “Oh,” Holmes breathed, stunned.

Nick slowly raised up, teeth gently scraping and making Holmes's breath shake. “Gotta admit, never thought about how useful not having a gag reflex is before now.”

Holmes laughed, “An unexpected benefit…” he trailed off as Nick lifted his hips, his knees bent and spread apart as Nick lowered his head again - Holmes shouted in surprise, practically jerking out of Nick's hands.

“Thought we were trying to be quiet,” Nick drawled with a grin.

“Then perhaps you should warn -” his protest turned into a gasp as Nick licked again, a tingling through to his toes.

“Where's the fun in that?”

“What on earth gave you this idea?”

Nick shrugged, “Sensitive spot. Didn't occur to us to grab anything we could use as lubricant, so I'm improvising.”

His tongue plunged inside, causing a strangled moan from Holmes, his legs jerking involuntarily, “That can't be pleasant…”

“I think most liquor tastes like battery acid so I might not be the best judge.”

“Ha! Comparable to battery acid. Lovely.”

Nick lightly smacked Holmes's ass with a smile, “That ain't what I said.”

Nick played, testing different grips and pressures on every inch below Holmes's waist. Holmes kept quiet through it all… or tried to, anyway. Each quiet moan, hiss, and gasp was music to Nick's ears. He writhed under Nick's touch, the self control he cherished collapsing piece by piece.

“Why are you doing this?”

Nick glanced up at the worry through the haze and smiled, touched and amazed. Even hard and dripping, his partner's mind was still focused on Nick's well-being. “Wouldn't be doing it if I didn't want to, Sherlock,” he softly promised. His metal hand reached for Holmes's face, fingertips tracing his lips, a smile across Nick's face as those lips parted for a faint kiss, “Knowing I’m the only one who can do this to you? Me, a beat up old machine… here,” Nick took hold of Holmes's hand and wordlessly positioned him to take hold of himself, his fingers a buffer between tender flesh and bare metallic joints as Nick started pumping his hand up and down. 

Holmes gasped as yellow eyes stared down at him from worn alabaster. “I do this because I enjoy it,” his lover said, “I enjoy it, because you do.”

His hand moved faster, making Holmes's teeth grit together so as not to scream. There was that small smile on his partner's face, a light laugh at the tiny moans coming from Holmes's throat, wanton, desperate. “Nick…” Holmes whispered, and the world spun with his release.

Nick slowly moved away, removing his hands as gently as he could. Holmes body glistened with sweat, his muscles completely slack, eyes closed as he breathed deep. It was one of the most beautiful things Nick had ever seen. He got up to clean his hands and face and brought a bottle of purified water, a bar of soap, and a washcloth back with him.

Holmes’s eyes were open when he came back. “I can almost see the gears ticking,” Nick grinned.

Holmes smiled, soft and sort of chagrined. “If I could stay in a state of contentment for more than five minutes, I would, trust me.” Nick started to clean the mess from his partner's body. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to.”

Holmes was going to make some sort of protest, but it died with a light sigh.

“You look content listening to music sometimes,” Nick said. “Only time I ever see you peaceful is when Radio Freedom is on.”

“If they could find more than those same six violins pieces, I would listen more often. I used to play.”

That was a surprise. “Really?” Nick put down the bath supplies, moving Holmes's legs just enough to sit beside him. “Were you any good?”

“I could have made a decent living as a violinist, but primarily the instrument was an outlet, a way to excise the thoughts, emotions… a way to focus.”

“Keep those black moods at bay.”

“Yes.” He smiled a little, “I enjoyed it. I haven’t thought about it for some time.” He looked at Nick then and sat up, chuckling, “You may want to consider changing your shirt.”

Nick looked down at the sticky mess and laughed, “I hadn’t noticed.” He stood and ignored the faint whine of a servo somewhere, “I've got a spare in the bedroom.”

He'd just pulled the shirt from their bag when Holmes closed the bedroom door behind him, depositing his armful of discarded clothes on the bed. Holmes walked up to him, still without pants and shirt unbuttoned, and removed Nick's tie.

Nick blinked. “Uh…” Holmes unbuttoned Nick's shirt, “I may be falling apart, but I can still change a shirt on my own.”

Holmes froze a moment, then said, “Valentine.” How did the man put so much affection behind exasperation? “If you don't want me to touch you, then -”

“It's not that and you know it.” His internals were practically a roar to his ears. “You haven't seen… battle repairs aside, you don't want to see the rest of me when we're…”

The heartbreak in Holmes's eyes was a lance through Nick's core, the sudden hard kiss that followed completely disarming him. Holmes pulled Nick's shirt from his shoulders before tossing his own to the floor, his mouth never leaving Nick's the whole time.

Nick looked down and saw the ruin of his torso against the comparative perfection of Holmes's. The stuff that passed for skin was leathery, discolored and torn. Holes from bullets, grenades, and creatures, exposed the twisted wires and motors that made up his mockery of organs. He watched his partner’s fingers trace the edges, almost caressing… he ventured a glance at Holmes's face. He saw nothing but curiosity and wonder.

“I am fully aware of the nature of the man I share my bed with,” Holmes said. “I thought I made that clear.”

Nick nodded slowly, “Guess I thought there has to be a limit.”

“Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“I don't know what it's doing.”

Holmes's hands continued their exploration, documenting every inch, committing each to memory. Flashes of anger or anguish flitted across his eyes as he counted each tear, each burn. “May I see the rest of you?”

“It ain't any prettier.”

“I'm curious. I feel I should know my lover as well as he…” he sighed and scolded himself as his hands fell away, “I'm sorry, Valentine, your comfort is by far more important -”

“Wait,” Nick said with a sigh of his own. “If that's really what you want. Hell, only seems fair.”

Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd been completely naked. Must have been just after the junkheap. He'd found an old pair of pants early on, the old Nick's dignity refusing to walk around without them even if there wasn't anything to see. Since then, the only reason he took his clothes off were to wash them or make repairs, and he rarely needed them all off at once for that. 

And now here he was, with another man in front of him, fingers slipping through the gaps to explore each tear in his skin. Holmes brushed the metal plating between Nick's legs. There was no sensation for Nick, apart from knowing something touched him. “I confess, I feel a bit guilty that there is no way for me to return the favor.” 

Nick shook his head, a hand on the side of Holmes's face, “Don't. If I want to make you feel good for a while, it's because I want to. Makes me feel amazing, seeing you like that.” He grinned, “I thought I made that clear.”

Holmes chuckled, “I suppose I thought there has to be a limit.”

“I'm getting the idea the word 'limit’ doesn't mean much where we're concerned,” Nick kissed him. “Now, we just gonna stand here all night, or are you planning on going to bed at some point?” Holmes shoved him. Nick let himself fall to the bed, “Fine way to treat an old man.”

“I'm older than you are.”

“You may have been born a hundred years prior, but then you got a free pass on two centuries, so I'm older.”

Holmes went under the covers on the other side of the bed, “I suppose you have a point.”

Nick joined him under the blanket, “Have you always had a thing for older men?”

“Ha! No.” Holmes kissed him, “Just a thing for antiques.”

Nick laughed, and put out the light.


	16. Finding Faraday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes has sent Preston and Danse to Far Harbor to ask the only man in the world with experience fixing prototype synths to come to the Commonwealth. First, the two Minutemen have to get there.

Preston had only seen Danse on a mission once before, back when he and General Holmes had first met the then-Paladin. Since then, all of Preston's interactions with the soldier who had become his friend and more had been within the confines of Sanctuary. Once they crossed over the river boundary of the town, a new energy practically poured off of Danse. He moved with an eager purpose, ready to take whatever the Commonwealth was going to throw at him and looking forward to it... and it threw a lot. Fortunately, none of it was very challenging. It seemed every pest in the Commonwealth had decided to come out of hiding today, from bloatflies to bloodbugs to roaches.

“Proctor Quinlan once told me about something called 'bug spray’ that existed before the War. Wish we had a few cans of it now.”

“Probably have to be pretty big cans,” Preston joked. Was Quinlan the one who discovered Danse was a synth? He didn't ask. He still didn't know what to say anytime Danse mentioned a fond memory of the Brotherhood. It was an important part of his life - the only part of his past he felt certain was real. So he didn't ask why Danse didn't hate them, why he still hoped the Brotherhood would be some sort of benefit to humanity as a whole instead of condemning them for being racist bastards with a superiority complex. Danse had tried to explain once; they'd been the closest thing to a family he'd ever known. He couldn't bring himself to hate them for doing what they thought was right, what he himself would have done in their place until after Holmes made him see reason. Maybe that was it, maybe Danse hoped that one day the Brotherhood would see reason like he had. Preston thought there wasn't a chance in hell of that happening.

A wandering handful of ferals were a welcome interruption for his thoughts. They went down before they were close enough to get a swipe in. Preston shuddered.

“Are you alright?” Danse asked.

“Yeah. ‘Swarmed by ferals’ might be my worst nightmare way to die. Almost happened in Lexington.”

“After you escaped Quincy.” Preston nodded. Danse was quiet for a long moment. “While in Murkwater, I went with Holmes to scavenge supplies for the scientists. We went past the southern outskirts of Quincy -”

“I don't want to know.”

Danse looked at him, curious and surprised. “The only times I’ve ever heard you speak with so much anger and venom have been regarding that town and Gunners.”

“With good reason.”

“Yes,” Danse acceded. “I shouldn't have brought it up, I apologize.”

Preston sighed. “It's ok. Well. It's not, but I know you didn't mean anything by it. Did they give you any trouble?”

“The Gunners? No.”

“Good. Did you… see any?”

Danse focused in him then, and Preston wished to whatever god there might be that he could have seen his face. Instead, Danse said with more gentleness than people gave him credit for, “Holmes told me you know who leads the group in Quincy. He's still there, to the best of our knowledge.”

“Of course he is,” Preston cursed.

“I'm glad you survived,” Danse said.

Preston blinked, and managed a small smile, “So am I.” They were quiet for a time after that. Preston didn't want to think about all the things he was thinking about. “What kind of music do you like?”

Danse sounded amused when he said, “Country-western and bluegrass.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I did not expect that.”

“And you?”

“Classical.”

“Seriously?”

“Shut up,” Preston grinned. Danse chuckled.

It was Danse who broke the next silence. “May I ask why you joined the Minutemen?”

“When I was a kid, the Minutemen were my heroes. They made me want to look out for folks and protect my neighbors. So, when I turned seventeen, I joined up. I served under Colonel Hollis, one of the good ones. Really believed in the old-time Minutemen way.” He smiled a little at the memory, “We had a few good years.”

“Did your family object?”

“By the time I was old enough to join, I didn't really have any family.”

“... I'm sorry to hear that.”

Preston shrugged, “It's alright. Lost my parents when I was little, but got taken in by an older couple who were neighbors of ours. They were real good people, always willing to do whatever they could to help others. Just didn't have much time left is all.”

A rumble under their feet brought them to a halt. The radscorpion burst from the earth about ten feet away. Both men fired in unison, spreading out to flank the creature, Danse's armor bearing the brunt of its claws as Preston tried to shoot off its tail and legs until someone's shot reduced the creature to a pile of glowing red ashes.

“Disgusting things,” Danse muttered. “Are you alright?”

“You're the one who got clawed. Any damage?”

“A few dents, nothing major.”

Nothing major attacked them the rest of the way, either. Tenpines Bluff was still a small farm run by a brother and sister, but they'd received a couple more hands, turning the remains of the house at the back of the field into a rough lodging with a spare room. They were happy to host the two Minutemen for the night.

That night Danse peered at Preston's map by lantern light on the room's small table. Preston sat on the bed behind him as he removed his coat, hat, and boots. Preston had decided on the most direct route east. There was a blank spot on the map, one Danse knew shouldn't be blank.

“Get some rest, Danse. We'll be roughing it tomorrow.”

“My recon squad wasn't the first to come to the Commonwealth.”

Preston paused, puzzled and concerned by the sudden topic shift. “I think I remember you mentioning that.”

“We lost all contact with the one before mine. When I was Paladin… after Holmes returned to Cambridge and I made him an Initiate, I sent him out to investigate the disappearance. He found them, all dead… except one.” Preston came close to look at the coordinates Danse's finger rested on. “Paladin Brandis made it to Recon Bunker Theta. After his squad was ambushed, scattered, and killed, he hid himself away and went native. Holmes was unable to convince him to return. To the best of my knowledge, no one else has tried since then.”

“Are you telling me this because you want to find him, or avoid him?”

Danse sighed, “I don't know.”

Preston put his hand on Danse's shoulder, “Then we'll see what the situation is when we get there.” Danse nodded, his hand taking Preston's from his shoulder with a grateful squeeze and joining him in bed.

 

Outpost Zimonja was only a few hours walk from Tenpines Bluff. The settlement was once a raider camp built around an old relay tower before General Holmes cleared it out. The current settlers had decided to expand their housing vertically so that the ground could be used for farmland. Preston and Danse arrived mid-morning, introduced themselves, and took a short rest before making their way east, hoping to get as far as they could before nightfall.

They made their way along the northern edge of a lake, but the stingwings and bloatflies swarming drove them further north. They didn't speak much this time, focused on the unfamiliar terrain and the creatures that might take them by surprise.

It was nearing dusk when they heard gunshots. “Let's check it out,” Preston ordered, and they hurried to help.

A grizzled old man with shaggy silver hair and beard, a metal breastplate strapped to his chest, was shooting at a handful of raiders from behind some rocks. A dead radstag doe was at his feet - supper, probably. The raiders hadn't expected a fight, but the old man was badly outnumbered. Danse strode forward, firing on the raiders at will as Preston supported him from further range.

The last raider fell, and the Minutemen turned to the old man... and found themselves at gunpoint.

“Don't come any closer! Who are you?” he demanded, eyes wide with paranoia.

“Easy friend,” Preston said with a hand up, “not looking for trouble. We're with the Minutemen -”

“The what?”

“Just trying to make the Commonwealth a better place...” he trailed off, the symbol on the dirty breastplate finally registering. “Are you... Brotherhood?”

That surprised him. “Brotherhood? I... I was part of the Brotherhood of Steel... but they're not here. They're too far away, they left me... all alone...” the fear never left him, but the suspicion flared, “What do you want?”

“We just wanted to help.” Preston sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but... “The Brotherhood are in the Commonwealth, now. Their airship is at the Boston airport. You could go back.”

Brandis, as Preston was now certain this was, stared at him. “... Airport? No, no, I couldn't. Not after everything that's happened. It's been too long. I... I wouldn't be of any use.”

“You won't know that for sure unless you try, right?”

“I... would they even take me?”

“Yes,” Danse said before he could stop himself.

“Why wouldn't they?”” Preston said, diverting Brandis's attention.

He was disappointed, embarrassed. “I... I tried to do some recon. Explore a little. My team... It was... it was just too much. So I hid. I've been hiding so long... three years? Yes, yes, about that. Too long.”

Danse spoke quietly, “Unless you go back, everything you and your team went through will be forgotten. All the sacrifices made for nothing.”

Brandis was terrified of the world, but Danse had shaken him. “I... I'll think about it.”

“Well,” Preston sighed with a glance at the setting sun, “we're headed east. Do you know of any place nearby that's safe to make camp?”

“No. No, but... you helped me with those raiders. I could let you stay with me, I suppose. That's all right.”

Preston looked at Danse. If Brandis recognized him...

“Thank you for the offer,” Danse said, “but we have an urgent mission of our own. Hopefully the night will provide enough cover.”

“Raiders had to come from somewhere,” Preston said, grateful. “Maybe we can take some more out in the process.”

Brandis nodded, relieved they were leaving, “Oh. Alright. Well, good luck. And... and if you need food or... or technology, odds and ends, my bunker is just north, up that path.”

“I'll help bring your kill up,” Danse offered.

“Thanks. I... appreciate that.”

Preston waited while Danse hauled the doe to the bunker. When he returned, he said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Helping him.”

“I don't understand.”

“You planted the idea in his head that he could return to the Brotherhood. He needs to. To think Paladin Brandis of all people... you didn't see the state of that bunker. He's going mad out here all alone.”

“I think you did more convincing than I did.”

“Preston.” Danse put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

Preston shrugged, “Like you said, he shouldn't be out here alone. And I doubt he would have joined the Minutemen.”

“Highly unlikely,” Danse nodded, and they continued east. “I wish I’d come here while in a Paladin’s colors. I didn’t have the resources before the Prydwen arrived, but I handed in the report of his location and the fate of his squad myself.”

“And the Brotherhood wrote him off,” Preston shook his head. “Would they take him back? Really?”

“If he made it back by himself, I believe so. It would take a long time before he was cleared for duty, but he would be welcomed.” Danse sighed, “I would have liked the shelter of the bunker, but I don't know if he would have recognized me or not.”

“Seeing you in another uniform would have raised questions. Not worth the risk.”

“I hope my safety hasn't put us both in more danger.”

“Don't talk like that, Danse. We were planning on roughing it anyway. We'll make do with what we find.”

They moved through the dark, Danse’s headlamp lighting their way. Neither wanted to sleep in the open, but neither could they walk without stopping. They had to sleep at some point.

“We have to stop,” Preston muttered, “It has to be past midnight by now.”

“Affirmative,” Danse said. “Parson's Asylum is another couple hours ahead, but I recommend against making camp in medical facilities. They tend to be overrun with ghouls.” His headlamp went dark, “How badly do you want to fight some raiders for a bed?”

“What are you -” then Preston saw it. The light of a campfire, near a tall stone tower in a clearing. A couple wooden shacks had been thrown together nearby. “How many raiders?”

“I glimpsed two in the open. How many are inside their shelters is unknown.”

“We're gonna find out real quick once we start shooting.”

“I've got the one on the right. Can you take the one on the left?” Preston readied his musket and nodded. “Let's light 'em up.”

It went perfectly. One raider attempted to throw a Molotov cocktail, but Danse shot it out of the air before it got near, raining fire over another raider instead. Preston and Danse were a well oiled machine, watching each other's backs and efficiently eliminating every threat until the camp lay quiet.

Then something very large lumbered toward them from the night.

“Deathclaw,” Preston cursed. “Into the tower, now!”

They ran for it. The deathclaw charged with a roar, a hand slipping inside the door as Danse slammed it shut. “Damn it!” He fired at the creature and it backed off just enough for him to get the door closed and latched. The deathclaw pounded at the wooden door.

“I don't like being cornered like this, Colonel,” Danse said.

“I saw the General take down a deathclaw in Concord this way. Hid in a building, kept just out of reach of its claws, and kept firing at it til it was dead.”

“Then I suggest we back up,” Danse said as the old wood began to splinter.

Preston ignored the drop of his stomach when the huge clawed hand ripped through, tearing at the door until it could peer inside. They fired on its ugly face, but that only seemed to piss it off more. It lunged forward.

“Up the stairs now!” Danse shouted, putting himself directly between the creature and Preston.

Preston moved back a couple steps automatically before he realized why. The deathclaw was trying to fit through the door. The stairway was too narrow for both him and Danse to stand side by side and face it.

“Fuck - Danse, it'll rip open your armor!” Danse paused to reload as the deathclaw made it halfway through, an armored elbow forcing Preston further back up the spiral, “It's getting in... let me help!” With a deafening roar, the beast was inside. “Get out of my way, Danse, that's a fucking order!!!”

Danse shifted his body as much as he could so at least Preston had a clear shot. They made their way up the stairs as the creature clumsily tried to follow. It had to be blind by now from all the shots to its face, but it kept coming.

They were out of stairs. “Why won't you die!” Danse shouted, punctuating each word with a shot of his rifle, the deathclaw's maw dangerously close...

It collapsed with a hiss.

“Holy shit,” Preston breathed, his heart hammering.

“I believe I've found a flaw with the General's strategy,” Danse said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Are you alright?”

“Shook up, but I'm fine, yeah. You?”

“The same. I suppose I should haul the carcass back to the ground floor. It can block anything else from getting in at the very least.”

“Not sleeping next to a dead deathclaw is another plus.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

As Danse moved the lizard, Preston glanced around the small chamber at the top of the tower. There wasn't any light now that Danse's headlamp was back downstairs, but Preston kept a couple candles in his pack. There wasn't much in the room, just some scattered junk left behind by raiders. They could get some rest here easy enough.

Danse returned to find Preston settling onto his bedroll by a small lit candle, its base melted to the floor. “Remind me to never fight a deathclaw after an eighteen hour day again,” Preston said as he lay down, his hat on his chest, musket by his hand.

“Duly noted.” Danse exited his armor and placed his own bedroll next to Preston's.

“You ok?” Preston asked.

Danse sighed as he sat down, “I apologize for my behavior.”

“What, when you got between me and the monster trying to eat us?”

“It was reckless. Instead of trusting you to fight by my side, my only thought was keeping you safe. It was an idiotic display of heroism that any Initiate would have been reprimanded for.”

Being shoved away from a fight had pissed him off in the moment, but Preston appreciated the apology. Hearing Danse's reason felt pretty good too. He turned his head to look up at Danse, “Wanting to keep me safe is idiotic?” he asked, knowing full well that wasn't what Danse had meant.

Danse made the face he usually made when language and emotions didn't match. “That's not what I meant. I should have let you assist from the start instead of... panicking.”

Preston's brow rose. He'd never imagined Danse and 'panic’ to go together. He sat up, “We've been working together the whole trip, why panic now?”

Danse was quiet a moment. “Everything else we've faced, I have had complete confidence that we would overcome, or at the very worst retreat. But trapped with a deathclaw in a tower?” He tried a wry smile that quickly faded. “It wasn't the first time I’ve ever thought I wouldn't make it through a fight. It _is_ the first time I ever... feared, that you wouldn't. And I didn't know how to handle that possibility.”

Preston reached out touch the side of Danse's face, fingers running through the edge of his hair. Danse made the slightest motion, pressing against his hand, eyes focused somewhere on the floor. He continued, “I'm a better soldier than that. I know exactly how soldiers get killed when they start letting their personal fears override the objective. Ten years in command, I know how to assess a situation and make the choice with the best chance of success…”

“Babe,” Preston said, softly. “Please don't beat yourself up over wanting to save my life.”

“But I nearly got us both killed instead!”

“It was my idea to be in the damn tower in the first place."

"You were following an example of your impossibly lucky superior officer, and no one could have expected that monster to actually fit through the door."

"Then it's a good thing you can follow orders if I yell them at you.”

Danse scoffed, “I did have a bit of a flashback. Other commanding officers also employed profanity in their orders.”

“Seemed to work,” Preston smiled.

Danse nodded once, with a tiny smile of his own. “Please believe that I do trust your command. This won't happen again.”

“Better not. You think you're the only one here who was panicking? I thought that thing was going to swallow you armor and all.”

“At least it would be dead after that, I don't think deathclaws can digest metal.”

Preston punched his shoulder, “Hell of a lot of good that would have done me!” Danse grinned, and Preston smiled. “Ok, so, we just have to trust we've got each other's backs and not be stupid no matter how terrified we are.”

Danse took a breath, letting it out with a firm nod, “Affirmative.”

Preston kissed him lightly, “Sometimes you're adorable. Come on, babe, we're both exhausted. Let's get some sleep.”


	17. Finding Faraday Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Preston's trip to Acadia continues with a stop at the home of Kenji, Rei, and Kasumi Nakano.
> 
> If you haven't read "Holmes in Far Harbor" yet, you're going to want to do that before the next chapter.

Danse was grumpy about oversleeping in the morning, despite Preston pointing out that just because they left after sun-up did not mean they had wasted time. They'd both needed the sleep. Danse would have made his usual retort about synths needing less sleep than humans, but even if that was true he couldn't deny he felt better than he had, and more importantly the extra hours had been a clear benefit to Preston. So he mumbled an “I suppose” and they prepared to continue east.

They gave Parson's Asylum a wide berth, unwilling to be delayed by whatever may have taken residence inside. Garvey mentioned something about General Holmes encountering some raiders there, but Holmes had been scant on details in the retelling. Local wildlife was quiet today, apart from a radstag that bolted off and the usual handful of insects. Danse remained focused on his surroundings, and Garvey remained the same. They couldn't afford to be distracted in unknown territory.

Danse was also still a bit shaken by his lapse in judgement the night before. Losing someone he was close to was one of the many reasons for four letters in his medical file… … It occurred to him that was a detail missing from Curie's file for the Minutemen. He should mention it to her.

“Danse?”

“Yes?”

“You were giving me the silent treatment.”

Danse sighed, “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I'm not at my best this morning, I'm letting too many thoughts distract me. I'll get my focus back on the mission.”

“Distracting thoughts, huh? Any of them about me?”

Danse smiled to himself. “Yes, but not the fun kind.”

“Oh. That's disappointing.”

“... You would rather I be fantasizing about you while we're out on a mission?”

“Rather that than you thinking about all the ways I could die out here.”

Danse's armor kept him from stumbling, per se, but there was definitely a hitch in his step. “You're right. I'm being ridiculous.”

“That's not what I said... but yeah, a bit.”

Danse breathed deep, and focused. “What do we know about this area?”

Garvey blinked, but shrugged and said, “Not much. No settlements this far north. Might be some sort of factory or plant way east, but I don't know for sure. The Minutemen never had much reason to come out here. I don't suppose the Brotherhood ever sent a vertibird this way?”

“Negative. If any came this way, the reports weren't of any interest to command.”

“So no technological hotspots.”

“Or nests of potential hostiles,” Danse pointed out.

“Then we can expect a whole bunch of nothing but creatures and maybe some raiders.”

“Affirmative.”

They did pass a handful of raiders fighting mirelurks in a dilapidated cottage near the coast and chose not to get involved. As they moved north up the beach, Danse groaned. “I can't stand traveling near saltwater.”

“Why?”

Danse scoffed, “Have you seen what it does to my armor?” 

Preston laughed, loud and surprised, “You and your armor, man.”

Danse smiled, and felt a small weight lift from his chest as he surveyed the seashore. They would probably be attacked by mirelurks any second, but in another era he imagined it would have been nice to walk this way. He gestured toward the water, “It's a shame that water travel is so dangerous. Imagine the marvels we could discover on the other side of that ocean.”

Preston nodded thoughtfully, “I've seen maps that show other countries, across the ocean. I wonder if they're any better off than we are.”

“You and your maps,” Danse said.

Preston smiled, ineffectively shoving an armored arm, “Shut up.”

“No, sir, I don't think I will.”

“Disobeying an order?”

“With respect, I think you'll regret your decision walking the rest of the way with a silent companion.”

“You're a smartass, but you have a point.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sometimes I can't tell if you're serious or flirting.”

“I know.”

Preston shook his head with a chuckle. “If we could go across the ocean, would you? Even with all the saltwater?”

“I'm about to sail on this mission, so we'll find out. I would like to see what's out there, but I'd rather fly to get there.”

“Guess that makes sense. I always wondered what flying is like.”

“Breathtaking,” Danse said, wistful with the knowledge that he probably never would again. “It never ceases... ceased... to amaze me how drastically your perception of the battlefield changes from the air.”

“Battlefield?”

“That was my usual purpose for being aboard a vertibird.”

“Sure, but is that all? I mean, it has to be exciting, right? Just on its own, without flying into battle?”

Though Preston couldn't see it, Danse's smile at his barely contained enthusiasm showed in his voice, “Yes. There's nothing like it.” They walked two steps before Danse's rifle came up, aiming at the sand, “Mirelurks ahead.”

“I see them,” Garvey spun two charges into his musket. Two of the distinct dome shapes of their shells were half buried by the water. “At least there isn't a nest,” he muttered.

The mirelurks burst from the sand and were met by laser fire. Both men knew to aim at the soft underbelly and faces, and both creatures fell quickly. Unfortunately, all the commotion attracted the attention of a dozen feral ghouls further up the beach, and a handful of raiders camped out among the rocky cliffs.

By the time Danse and his Colonel had cleared the area of hostiles, the sun was starting to set. They continued north, Garvey's conviction that they were nearing the edge of the map pushing them forward.

“The Nakanos have to be close.”

“We may want to consider finding a place to camp as it's already nightfall… wait.” Danse's headlamp illuminated a bit of old fishing net on an ancient pier railing. They moved faster, their objective in sight. The house was sturdy and well maintained, as was the pier connected to it. Two boats were moored in place, and fishing gear decorated the porch. Lights shone through the windows of the house. The Nakanos were home.

They walked up to the front door and knocked. A puzzled late middle aged man answered, “Yes?”

“Good evening, sir. I'm Col. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen, and this is my Lt. Colonel. Are you Kenji Nakano?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“We need to get to Far Harbor. General Holmes said we should come to you to borrow a boat.”

Seeing Mr. Nakano's confusion, Danse added, “Nick Valentine's partner.”

“Mr. Holmes, of course!” Nakano exclaimed, a smile on his face, “I had no idea he was a general too, come in, come in. Ah, if you don't mind leaving the power armor out here...”

“Of course,” Danse said, and stepped out. There was little chance of needing it inside the house after all, and in the unlikely event of an attack on this remote location it would be close at hand.

The house was spacious and well furnished; the Nakanos took good care of what they had. Cleaning up in the kitchen were two women, one older and one younger. The family had just finished supper. Mr. Nakano made introductions, “This is my wife Rei and our daughter Kasumi. These are Colonel Garvey and Lt. Colonel, ah…”

“Danse,” Danse supplied. He thought it highly unlikely the Brotherhood would ever come this far north without specific reason. And, to be perfectly honest, sometimes existing as “the nameless Lieutenant Colonel” was exhausting.

“They know Mr. Holmes and Valentine,” Mr. Nakano finished.

“Welcome,” Mrs. Nakano said with a smile. “Any friend of Mr. Holmes and Detective Valentine are welcome here. What brings you out this way?”

“We need to get to Far Harbor,” Garvey said.

“Far Harbor?” the young woman, Kasumi, was alarmed. “Why do you want to go to Far Harbor?”

“Nick's… sick, I guess,” Garvey tried to explain. “He needs some repairs.”

“Holmes was hoping someone called Faraday can help,” Danse said.

This only surprised Kasumi more. “You want Faraday to come to the Commonwealth?”

“You know him?” Garvey asked.

She nodded, “That's… how we know Nick and Holmes, they came to get me. I ran away from home, to Acadia. Faraday's brilliant, but it's going to be really hard getting him to come out here. He's not the adventurous type.”

“We have to try.”

Danse was curious, “May I ask why you ran away?”

Kasumi hesitated, her mother holding her hand. “I… thought I was a synth.”

Mr. Nakano grumbled, “Those synths on the island -”

“Dad, stop it,” Kasumi demanded, tired. “I told you, they were just trying to help. They thought they were offering shelter to a synth, that's all.”

“I know, but -”

“Kenji,” his wife was firm, “If they'd meant Kasumi harm, they wouldn't have let her pack up and leave. Besides, Nick and Holmes would have told us if there was something wrong.”

Mr. Nakano sighed, “You're right.”

Danse had watched this exchange with increasing confusion. “You thought you were a synth?” he asked Kasumi.

She nodded. “I’d been having these dreams and… it doesn’t matter, I’m home now and just really glad to have a family. Be a daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Mrs. Nakano emphasized. “Part of it was our fault, being so isolated up here, and then after her grandfather died, well. We’re glad she’s home, and that’s what matters.”

“What would have happened if she’d been a synth?”

The whole family were shocked. “What?”

“Danse,” Garvey scolded.

Danse flinched, and hastened to make his point, “I apologize, that was insensitive, and a clumsy way of asking your opinions on synths.”

Mr. Nakano was shaken, but a bit mollified. “Well, it’s not like we’ve met any, that we know about. Nick’s really the only one, and he’s not like the ones that look human. He’s a good man, though.”

Kasumi spoke with quiet certainty as she busied herself with putting away dishes, “I can say for a fact that they’re pretty similar to humans. Some are really nice and some are assholes. Synths have feelings too, and can love and get hurt and I never saw anything in Acadia that made me think ‘this is a machine’ instead of ‘these are people.’ And it’s not their fault they exist. They didn’t ask to get made and programmed with someone else’s life. And just because the memories were put there by someone else doesn’t make the feelings associated with them less real. They can still love their family even if it isn’t really theirs...” she stopped suddenly and looked at Danse, suspicious and scared and pleading. 

Everyone was quiet, uncomfortable, but Danse hardly noticed, his focus on the young woman hiding in plain sight. He smiled, “Thank you. I haven’t heard such a spirited defense before, it’s comforting.”

“Comforting?” she asked, confused.

He nodded, and turned to her parents, “I apologize for derailing the conversation. Mrs. Nakano, we’ll need an early start in the morning, is there a place…”

“Oh!” She'd been stunned by Kasumi's speech, but social obligation spurred her to action. “Of course, you can stay here the night. We've the sofa and a spare bed upstairs. Here, I'll show you.”

“Thank you.”

Kasumi stopped him as he followed Mrs. Nakano up the stairs, “Wait, Mr. - I mean, Lt. Colonel. Why is it comforting?”

He met her eyes with a small, almost sad smile. “I'm a synth.” He followed her mother up the stairs.

The room was small, but the bed adequate for both men if they wanted. He'd have to ask Garvey what he would be most comfortable with. He thanked Mrs. Nakano for her hospitality, and she nervously asked, “Is Kasumi right? Is it true what she said - oh I guess of course you'd say it was.”

Danse sighed, “Honestly, I'm not certain if there's a difference between human emotions and mine. I do know that I felt anger, sorrow, and despair when I discovered what I was. And I felt hope when the Minutemen took me in, I feel pride at every recruit I train… and I feel a small but ever-present fear because of what I am and those who would reject my worth because of my mere existence, something I had no say in.”

Mrs. Nakano was thoughtful a moment. “Well. You're welcome here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nakano.”

“Call me Rei, please. You and your Colonel must be hungry after a long day, can I get you anything?,

Danse smiled at the dramatic shift in atmosphere, “You've just finished cleaning up, we wouldn't want to be a burden -”

“Nonsense,” and she led the way back downstairs.

Garvey had kept Mr. Nakano talking about life this far north in the Commonwealth, and eventually worked around to talking about the Minutemen and how General Holmes wanted to set up trade to Far Harbor's island. The Nakanos could serve as the port for transporting goods across the water. Kenji seemed interested. Kasumi was quiet.

The conversation continued while Rei provided a light meal, and Danse asked about Kasumi's interests. She was happy to share her fascination with machines, and though Danse didn't know anything about fishing boat repair or building a radio from scratch, he could talk about armor and weapon modifications with similar zeal. 

Once he and Garvey were finished, they and their hosts all went to their respective rooms for the night. “I can take the sofa if -” Danse started, but Garvey stopped him.

“What? Why?”

Danse shrugged, “I thought it would be polite to offer, even if I already knew the answer.”

His friend laughed a little, “Thanks for the offer, but sharing a bed is always ok.”

Danse smiled a little, “Good.”

Garvey set his hat on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. His voice was quiet, mindful of thin walls, “You sure had Kasumi worried for a bit.”

Danse sat next to him, “I didn't mean to alarm her. I believe she's hiding her true nature out of fear. If that is the case, then nothing is going to change if they don’t start talking about the possibilities.”

“What if she's just a human girl who got confused?”

“You don't believe that any more than I do. Her parents desperately want her to be human, to have never lost their daughter, and she wants nothing more than to be a daughter to them. I know what it’s like to want to have a home, but she shouldn't have to lie her whole life for it to be true.”

Garvey sighed, “Well. Hopefully you’ve given them all something to think about. Hey, you ok with this? Going to a colony of synths?”

“Why?”

“I can't explain it, just…” Preston held Danse's hand, “I guess I'm worried.”

Danse's hand tightened around Preston's. “If I feel I’m about to go into a state of shock, I’ll let you know.”

“I'm serious, Danse.”

He smiled. “So am I. The Nakanos are early risers, we'll be well on our way by morning.”


	18. Finding Faraday Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Preston arrive in Far Harbor. Things go well. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add some italics.

The boat was automated, which was both lucky and unnerving. The ocean was... big. Preston was glad they stayed in sight of the shore the whole trip. Danse was glad the Nakanos’ boat easily outpaced the mirelurks that took notice of them.

It was afternoon when they arrived at Far Harbor. A thin older woman in a black vest and slacks, her short hair almost as white as her shirt, stood on the dock watching them disembark. “Welcome to Far Harbor, strangers. I'm Captain Avery.”

Preston stepped forward, a hand extended and a smile on his face. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen, and this is my Lt. Colonel.”

Captain Avery shook his hand, “You're a long way from the Commonwealth, Colonel.”

“We need to get to Acadia. Our friend Holmes said we should ask a hunter named Longfellow to take us there, do you know where we can find him?”

“Holmes!” Avery smiled, “Any friend of Mr. Holmes is welcome here. You'll usually find Old Longfellow in The Last Plank, at the end of town. He's a bit ornery, but no one knows the Island better. Good luck.”

Preston and Danse stepped into the town of Far Harbor. They looked around at the wooden structures, a walled settlement built on ancient docks, with some small amazement. The locals were gazing at them with similar expressions.

“I'm betting not many people come through here in power armor,” Preston said to Danse.

“I'd wager not many people come through here, period,” Danse said.

They went past a weapons shop and a general store doubling as a medical clinic before spotting a very large boiler with a mirelurk inside. “A communal source of food,” Danse commented, impressed. “I wonder how they caught the mirelurk.”

Preston shook his head slowly, “Somehow I don't think a really big net would do it,” he muttered.

As they stepped inside The Last Plank, everyone turned and stared a moment before minding their own business. Holmes had provided a description of the man they were looking for; Preston spotted the grey-haired man with beard to match in a dusty black overcoat sitting at a table in the corner, and strolled over with friendly confidence.

“Mr. Longfellow?”

“Mister?” the old hunter was amused. “Don't hear that often. Who're you, and why do you know me?”

“My name's Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutem -”

“Lemme guess. Another mainlander up from the Commonwealth lookin’ for a guide?”

“Uh... yes. We -”

Danse pulled the bottle of whiskey from their pack and set it on the table. “Holmes sends his compliments.”

Longfellow laughed, “Holmes sent you, huh? Well sit down, then.”

Preston sat. Danse, sensing his commanding officer may need reinforcements, got out of his armor and joined them at the table. Longfellow opened the bottle, filled his empty glass and slid it across the table to Preston. He took a swig from the bottle, “And how is the cap'n?”

Preston had a sip and winced. “Captain?”

Danse took the glass from him and had a larger swallow. “Holmes is well. Unfortunately, his partner is in need of repairs.”

Longfellow made a sound that wasn't quite disapproving, but definitely uncomfortable. “The metal man. Valentine, he calls 'im?”

Danse handed the glass back to Preston, who made a more admirable attempt at drinking it, “Yes.”

“Why send you two?”

Preston gave up on the whiskey and handed it back to Danse, “Holmes wanted to stay behind in case Valentine got worse, and to take care of his son.”

“I suppose I can't blame him for that. Told you to find me to take you to Acadia I'm guessing?”

“That's right.”

Longfellow took a large swig from his bottle, “Hope you stocked up on your Rad-X, ammo, and the like.”

“We are sufficiently supplied,” Danse said.

Longfellow nodded and stored the whiskey in his coat. “Let's get a move on, then.” He watched Danse get back into his armor and shook his head, “Never much cared for power armor myself. Too noisy to go huntin’ in.”

“‘Hunting’ is not my objective.”

Longfellow chuckled, “Guess not.”

Danse and Preston followed Longfellow out of town. Preston whispered to Danse, “Since when do you drink whiskey?”

“I've always enjoyed it, I simply don't have much off duty time to drink. Apparently, you don't care for it.”

“Always preferred beer,” Preston shrugged, “the colder the better.”

As they made their way down the road inland, a thick mist crept across the ground, swirling around their feet before dissipating. Preston and Danse remembered Holmes's advice before they left; _“The island is covered in a radioactive fog that has resulted in unique wildlife. That's one of the reasons you'll want Longfellow; getting lost is deadly, and not a risk I'm willing to let either of you take.”_

His warning was justified on the old forested mountain path when three gigantic black-furred dogs attacked from the trees. Longfellow called them “wolves,” and they were bigger, faster, and smarter than any pack of mongrels roaming the Commonwealth. They also didn't quite know how to attack prey encased in metal.

“How do you like those puppies?” Longfellow chuckled when the last one fell.

“An invigorating challenge,” Danse stated. “Sophisticated pack tactics are not often encountered in the Commonwealth.”

“That's one way to look at it,” Preston said.

“Huh.” Longfellow kept walking, “Well, glad to see all that armor isn't just for hiding behind. Got some grit, I'll give you that.”

Danse wasn't sure whether or not he was offended, so he said nothing.

At a clearing, a sight familiar to both Minutemen brought them to combat readiness, their weapons ready to engage. Preston alerted Longfellow, “On your left!”

“Easy soldier, hold your fire,” Longfellow said, “Those preachers won't cause us trouble if they know what's good for 'em.”

Danse and Preston looked at each other, looked at the group of Children of Atom walking past, and looked at Longfellow. “Preachers?”

“Children of Atom, they call themselves. Think this Island is their holy ground on account of the Fog.”

“They're in the Commonwealth, too. They tend to shoot on sight, shouting about Atom,” Preston said.

“Doesn't surprise me,” Longfellow grumbled as they continued walking. “Your friend Holmes managed to set up some sort of treaty between them, us Harbormen, and the folks in Acadia. No one knows how, or how long it'll last.”

“You sound like you're not too happy about it,” Preston said.

“Hmph. I admit it's a relief not to worry about preachers sabotaging our 'unholy’ condensers, and I sure ain't complaining about never hearing a preacher waltz into town and shouting about how we're all doomed... but if you'd seen the sort of things they're capable of like I have, you'd have doubts about their intentions, too.”

Passing near a lake introduced the Minutemen to a bizarre bipedal creature with slick hairless skin and a huge mouth called a “gulper.” Longfellow assured them these were young ones, full grown adults were much larger. Everything on this island was larger, apparently.

As the dome of a pre-war observatory came into view, Longfellow slowed. “There it is. They'll have been watching us for a spell, so you can head on in. If you need a guide anywhere else on the Island, drop by my place off the coast of town. I can think of worse ways to spend a day. Even if that thing is damn loud,” he joked with a nod at Danse, and turned back to town.

“I like him,” said Preston.

“His expertise would be invaluable if we need to explore the island further,” Danse said.

Preston laughed a little, “Come on, man. Let's go find a doctor for Nick.”

Danse was apprehensive as they moved past the makeshift barricade surrounding the observatory. “These walls would be a mere annoyance in the face of a proper attack,” he commented.

Preston nodded, “At least the building itself looks secure. Hard to get through solid concrete.”

Holmes's advice on Acadia had been... mixed.

_“The leader of Acadia is called Dima. It would be polite to speak to him first when you arrive. His people invented the condensers that settlers rely on to keep the fog at bay. I suppose he would appreciate being informed of Valentine's condition, as they're brothers.”_

_“Brothers?” Preston asked, surprised._

_“They were built at the same time and escaped together. They were separated afterward.”_

_Danse frowned, “You don't like him.”_

_Holmes smirked. “Regardless of my opinion of my brother-in-law, he is dedicated to protecting his people and keeping peace on the island. Whether the latter is genuine value of life or merely a means of ensuring the former, I am not certain. But all this is beside the point. Faraday is in Acadia, and Dima will be influential in convincing him to leave the security of his island colony.”_

So they entered. They were at the end of a corridor, a chamber at the other end where a multitude of computer banks could be seen, shining a pale light. A figure moved among them, stopping to study whatever was displayed every now and then. Preston led the way forward.

Danse was glad his helmet hid his face. The figure was... he forced the word 'repulsive’ from his mind with a hard denial and settled on ‘unnerving.’ Dima, as this had to be, was so visibly more a machine than Valentine.

Dima noticed them. “Welcome. You enter a place of peace, and understanding. Synth-kind welcomes you, as long as you welcome us.”

Preston smiled, “No worries there. Col. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. This is my Lt. Colonel, and you must be Dima.”

Dima was amused, and curious. “I am. You're a long way from the Commonwealth, Colonel.”

“General Holmes sent us. We're here to ask someone called Faraday to come back with us. It's about Nick.”

Dima was alarmed, “Nick? What's happened?”

Preston considered his words carefully, “Well, if he were human, I'd say he was sick. Something about internal systems... I don't know any of the details, I just know the scientists did they best they could trying to fix him but it wasn't enough. General Holmes was too worried to leave him.”

“So he sent you.”

“Yes, sir. He hoped this Faraday might be able to help.”

“He might. He's done all of my repairs. Who are these scientists you mentioned?”

“Institute refugees. They set up a settlement to the south.”

Dima's brow rose. “Nick went back to our creators for help?”

“The scientists are not a threat,” Danse said. “It was my suggestion that Valentine ask them for help after seeing his son's concern. They fixed the immediate problem, but lack the necessary knowledge and resources to keep it from happening again or becoming worse. Apparently, prototype synths have some significant differences from second or third generation.”

“That's true,” Dima said thoughtfully. “I presume you'll want to leave as soon as possible?”

“Yes, sir,” Preston said.

Dima nodded, “Then let me introduce you to Faraday. I believe he is downstairs. Follow me.”

Dima led them down a flight of stairs to the next floor. They entered what appeared to be a living space, people milling about and talking. Lanterns, small fires, and candles provided all the light in the large room.

“Are all these people synths?” Preston asked.

“Yes,” Dima said.

“How did they know?” Danse asked.

“A few kept their memories after escaping the Institute and so have always known. For the rest, there is no way to be completely certain but there are signs. Dreams, feelings, gaps in memory. Any who come here suspecting they might be a synth are welcome to stay and determine the truth about themselves in safety.” Dima turned to Danse, the solid silver eyes strangely focused on him. “Forgive the intrusive question,” he asked in that voice that was somehow too gentle, “but have you ever wondered?”

“I'm a synth,” Danse stated, without emotion. “I know because a record was found when Holmes infiltrated the Institute.”

Dima blinked, possibly surprised. “Then you are indeed welcome here. My brother's partner did so much for us, you are both welcome as friends of his. But as a synth, Acadia is always open. Here, you will always have refuge, a place to belong.”

“I have a place I belong,” Danse somehow kept himself calm. “I may be a synth, but I'm also a soldier. Holmes and his Minutemen took me in, and I have found plenty of reasons never to leave.”

Dima didn't believe him, entirely, but he considered the possibility. “Then you are lucky.”

Danse bit back the response he would have said. “Perhaps,” he said instead.

Dima clearly wanted to say more, but they'd started to attract attention. Dima entered a small room with electrical lights overhead, half the room filled with shelves of plant specimens. In the other half of the room was a counter where a man in a lab coat was arguing with a man in a blue mechanic's jumpsuit.

“I don't understand why you've been so...” the man in the lab coat searched for a word.

The other man supplied it for him, “Unfriendly. Difficult.”

“Well, yes!” was the nervously exasperated response.

“Is something wrong?” Dima said.

The men looked at them, surprised. “Oh! Dima,” said the lab coat. “I see we have visitors.”

“You really are brilliant.”

“Cog, if you're going to continue to irritate me, then at least tell me why!”

“Nah,” the man in the jumpsuit said. “You'll figure it out.”

“Faraday,” Dima said, and the man in the lab coat sighed and stepped away from Cog, who watched from a short distance with bored interest. “These gentlemen are from the Commonwealth. Holmes sent them. They've come for you.”

“Me?!”

“Nick is sick,” Dima continued. “He couldn't make the trip here, so they've come to bring you to him.”

“Why me?”

“You have a more thorough knowledge of how prototype synths work than anyone.”

Faraday sighed, “That's probably true, but the Commonwealth?”

“The Institute is gone -”

“There's plenty else to be worried about!”

“Mr. Faraday?” Preston spoke, “You'll be travelling with us the whole way. I know we're asking you to take a risk, but I promise we'll do our best get you there and back again safe and sound.”

Faraday was flustered. “I... I'll think about it. If you'll excuse me, I have things to do.” He hurried from the room.

“That went well,” Danse muttered.

“I'll speak with him,” Dima said, “but it is ultimately his decision. The journey from the Commonwealth was hard. I can't blame him for never wanting to go back.”

Preston sighed. “Well, we'll give him some space and try again tomorrow.”

“How bad is Nick's condition?” Dima asked.

“Something is deteriorating,” Danse said. “According to the scientists, the longer he goes without full repair, the more he risks never moving again.”

“Ah, I suffered something similar a couple years ago. It was quite painful. I'll do my best to convince Faraday to help.”

“Thank you,” Preston said. “We'll head back to town for now and return tomorrow morning.”

“Of course. I hope to have better news for you then.”

They followed the road back to Far Harbor, the evening light casting strange shadows in the mist. It was a tense walk. “Holmes said he'd take some convincing,” Preston sighed.

Danse only nodded.

When they got back to town, Danse took advantage of the power armor station next to the weapons shop to perform some maintenance while the sun was still up, overcast though it was. Preston watched him work in silence.

“Getting dark,” he said after a while. “Holmes mentioned a room for rent at The Last Plank, let's get a bite to eat and turn in. Been a hell of a couple days.”

Danse stretched his shoulders and neck and ejected the fusion core from his suit. A local deciding to “borrow” his armor was the last thing he wanted. He followed Preston into the bar, and was content to let Preston do all the talking.

Supper was something called a rabbit that had been cooked over the fire on skewers, and a beer. Danse hardly tasted the meal, but Preston seemed to like it.

Preston was also getting pretty worried. He tried to draw Danse into a conversation, but his friend's mind was clearly somewhere else. As soon as they finished eating, Preston got them the room upstairs.

It was small, but nice. Preston set his hat on the dresser and tossed his coat and scarf onto the chair by the bed. His vest joined his hat as Danse removed his uniform jacket. Preston laid down on the bed. “Not bad. Be a bit snug, but that's not a problem,” he grinned.

Danse finally smiled, miniscule but there. He joined Preston in bed, and held him close with surprising urgency, burying his face in his shoulder.

“Hey,” Preston said, an arm going around Danse's shoulder, “everything ok?”

Danse took a deep breath, letting it out slow. He kissed Preston's lips, tender and deep and persistent. Preston was suddenly confused. He didn't understand what sort of mood Danse was in, but as the kisses moved down his neck his hands started to drift into position above his head, completely by habit.

Danse stopped them. “No,” he whispered, and pulled Preston's hand to the side of his face, “here, please.”

Preston's brow knitted, “Ok.” He ran his other hand through Danse's thick hair and traced the edge of his short beard. Danse closed his eyes, tense, trying to relax. “Babe, what's wrong?”

“I'm… unsettled.”

“No shit.”

Danse scoffed with a tiny grin. “That place...” he glanced at Preston, and looked away with a small shake of his head.

“Acadia?”

“There were more than I thought. And that... prototype. Valentine's 'brother.’”

“You were wonderful. I was so fucking proud to hear you tell him you'd already found the place you belong.”

“I think I have. But seeing all those synths without any purpose... just trying to live like everyone else. So many, all with different faces... how many did the Institute make? How many were intended to replace real people, like Kasumi Nakano? How many were simply slaves? Which was I?”

“Hey. Babe, look at me.” Danse slowly met his eyes. “It doesn't matter. Whoever the man was that you got your oldest memories from, you're not him. Whatever your original purpose or programming was, it probably wasn't to become a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel,” he played with Danse's hair before holding his hand, “and it sure as hell wasn't to become the Lieutenant Colonel of the Commonwealth Minutemen,” he lightly kissed his lips, “or Preston Garvey's lover.” That made Danse smile, just a little. “That's all you, babe. It's all real. It's what matters.”

Danse breathed, slow and deep. “Thank you for listening, and understanding.”

“Happy to. Anytime.” Preston blinked in surprise as Danse cuddled next to him again. “You ok now?”

“Yes. Just... wanted this.”

Preston held him close and smiled, “Anytime.”


	19. Finding Faraday Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston and Danse came to Acadia to convince Faraday to help Nick. He's willing to help... just not so willing to leave home to do so.

Danse woke first, soft morning light through the room's small window. Preston had sprawled across his chest during the night. Danse liked the weight of him, but his arm was numb. He tried to move it, and Preston's eyes blinked open.

Preston smiled, “Good morning.”

Danse lightly kissed his lips, “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?”

Danse nodded. “Yourself?”

“Slept great.” Preston snuggled against him, “This is nice.”

“It is.” It was better than ‘nice.’ He didn't want to move. But this morning, like every morning, duty pulled him from his bed. “As much as I would like to stay, we have a mission.”

Preston sighed and sat up, “Yeah. You think Dima had any luck convincing Faraday?”

“We'll find out.”

 

They entered Acadia and heard voices down the corridor. Dima and Faraday were talking inside a smaller room next to the main chamber. Danse and Preston froze, and stayed out of sight.

Faraday's voice was clear, “My willingness to risk my life for you does not extend to your brother.”

Dima's response was quietly passionate, “If Nick's suffering is not enough, then think of our ideals. If Acadia is truly to be a refuge, then we have a duty to those who ask for help to respond if we can.”

“If he came here -”

“You remember what I was like last year, when you scolded me for not alerting you to the degradation of my lower stabilizer? Would you have asked me to make a trip across the Commonwealth?”

Faraday sighed, “No, but -”

Dima was suddenly very gentle. “My dearest Faraday. I know the idea of returning to the Commonwealth terrifies you. The men Holmes sent gave their word to see you home again.”

“They promised to try,” Faraday pointed out with a bit of a pout.

Dima chuckled, “Which shows them to be sensible, and likely perfectly capable. Blind promises are a sign of overconfidence.”

Faraday was quiet. “What if I can't fix him?”

“No one is asking you to perform miracles. You are the best hope of success. You will try your best. It's all anyone can ask. Nick knows this, as does Holmes and, I imagine, their friends.”

There was a moment of silence before Faraday begged, “I can't, Dima. I can't go back. If Nick could come here I would help him in a heartbeat but… I'm sorry.” He sounded panicked, “I can't live up to your ideals, I just cannot go back to the Commonwealth. It was so _hard_ to escape -”

“Breathe, Faraday,” Dima soothed, “No one is forcing you to do anything, and I will not think less of you…”

Danse opened and shut the main door loudly. Preston rolled his eyes at him with a small grin and casually walked forward.

Dima stepped out to meet them, “Ah. Good morning. We were just discussing your request. Unfortunately, I'm afraid Nick will have to find another way.”

Preston sighed, “Understood. Maybe our engineer and medic can come up with something creative… anyway, thanks for trying.”

“Wait,” Faraday hurried out of the room, what looked like some sort of laboratory filled with computer equipment. “Engineer?”

“Yeah,” Preston said, taken aback by Faraday's sudden energy, “name's Sturges. He built the teleporter that got Holmes into the Institute.”

Faraday's eyes widened, “He built a molecular relay?”

“Helped that he had a blueprint to follow, but yeah.”

“And your medic?”

“Curie's a specialist in diseases, I guess, but she knows as much if not more about all things medical than any other doc in the Commonwealth.”

“If the problem is the same as what Dima suffered last year, or even just similar, then I might be able to walk them through the repair over the radio.”

“Are you certain?” Danse asked.

“No, but all it would take is someone to answer some questions for me and I'd find out. We could communicate with Kasumi, it would only take a little adjusting to reach the rest of the Commonwealth.”

“Worth a shot,” Preston smiled.

“What is?” a woman’s voice said from behind them.

They turned, and Preston’s musket was up and charged immediately.

“Colonel, what are you doing?” Danse demanded, alarmed to see Preston aiming at an unarmed dark haired woman in a long black leather coat.

Preston was calm and focused. “That’s a Courser.”

Danse was stunned, “What?”

Dima stepped in, “This is Chase. She broke away from the Institute, and became one of the founding members of Acadia.”

The Courser put her hands in the air slowly, “Do you think I’d be standing here chatting if I wanted to hurt anyone?”

Preston lowered his weapon. “Guess not. Sorry, I was with General Holmes when the Minutemen invaded the Institute. Still have nightmares about people wearing those coats.”

“I understand,” Chase lowered her hands and walked forward. “Most synths that still have their memories are scared when they first see me, so I’m used to that reaction.”

Preston took a deep breath, and stuck out his hand. “Colonel Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. This is my Lieutenant Colonel, Danse.”

Chase shook his hand, “Nice to meet you. Now can someone explain what's going on?”

Dima briefly summarized their purpose. “Faraday wants to try assisting Nick remotely over the radio, rather than risk the journey through the Commonwealth.”

“Considering what happened on his way out of there, I don't blame him,” Chase muttered.

“I'll set up the radio right away,” Faraday said. “Colonel Garvey, I'll need you to help me make contact with the right settlement.”

“Lead the way,” Preston said, and followed Faraday into his lab. “Oh wait,” he turned back, “Danse, there any chance of the Brotherhood picking up this broadcast? We don't want them to get curious about the ‘synth expert’ living on an island.”

Danse nodded, “I can help prevent that, assuming they're using the same procedures and protocols as before I left.”

“You're Brotherhood?” Chase exclaimed.

“I hardly think you have any room to talk, ‘Institute,’” Danse said, and followed Preston.

It took some trial and error but, with Preston and Danse's help, Faraday was able to make contact with Sanctuary and put some precautions in place to lessen the chance of eavesdropping.

Operation-via-radio definitely wasn't what Holmes and Valentine had hoped for, but they were willing to give it a try and see what happened. Nick did preface everything with, “Faraday, if all this goes south, I'm expecting you to come here and fix it in person.”

Faraday couldn't tell if Nick was joking or not, so Danse said, “We'll meet him halfway. I can carry you over my shoulder again if need be.”

Nick scoffed a laugh, “Rather not ever experience that again, thank you very much.”

And so they started. Preston, Danse, Dima, and Chase gathered around Faraday at the radio and listened. No one was sure if this would work. Shortly after they started, Shaun appeared on the other end. Holmes let him stay if he promised to be quiet and still while Sturges and Curie followed Faraday's instructions.

Dima, on the other hand, couldn't restrain himself. “Is that…” he hesitated, oddly uncertain, “Nick, is that your… son?”

Nick softly laughed through physical discomfort, “Sure is. He's Holmes's son, but I'm… I'm Dad Number Two. Shaun, say hello to Dima. He's… well, if Dima's my brother, then I guess that makes him your uncle.”

“Hi, Uncle Dima!” Shaun said.

Dima was shell shocked. “... Hello, Shaun.”

“Hate to break up the introductions,” Sturges gently interrupted, “but now that I’ve got Nick's insides exposed, I'd rather get this done faster than not.”

It was slow going. Sometimes Faraday had trouble describing what he needed, but Sturges was creatively descriptive. Curie often filled in blanks by providing anatomical comparisons. Nick had refused to be 'shut down’ during all this. His occasional grunts of pain were distressing, but often followed by dry humor. At some point, Preston and Danse stepped outside the room to wait. Chase followed, giving Dima and Faraday a little space as Faraday tried to describe a complicated piece.

Danse removed his helmet. “There you are,” Preston softly joked. “Been weird having your face hidden so much.”

Danse smiled, “If I could travel without the helmet, I would.”

Chase approached, “How does a synth join the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“The same way everyone else does.”

She sighed, “I apologize for the interrogation, but it is… extremely unusual.”

“I imagine so.” Danse glanced at Preston, who had lightly brushed the inside of his hand. It was a discrete gesture, just a small reminder that he was there. Danse felt tired as he told the story again, “I had no idea what I was. I thought I’d grown up an orphan in the Capital Wasteland, but instead all of my memories past a certain point are a lie. I’m not certain where that exact point is. For decades I dedicated myself to the Brotherhood cause, and then I found out I’m the very thing I was trained to hate.”

“And so you left,” Chase said.

“And so I fled,” he corrected, sharply, “hunted. Fortunately, the person they sent to kill me was Holmes. He disobeyed orders. The Brotherhood think I’m dead.”

“May I ask your designation?”

“Why?” Preston challenged.

“Curiosity,” Chase said, as if it were obvious. “I don't recognize your friend from any record of escaped synths -”

“A list of missing or escaped synths is what exposed me,” Danse frowned. “The Brotherhood saw my picture, compared my DNA to the one on file for the synth M7-97, and it matched.”

Chase thought for a moment, puzzled. “M7 class were infiltration units, specially designed for a specific purpose within surface society and left to their own devices. But, if you don't remember anything about the Institute, that means you either had a memory wipe at some point or you were never supposed to have any memory of the Institute. It’s possible that you were put in place as an experiment, just something to be observed and studied. When you joined the Brotherhood, they might have written you off as a programming failure, with retrieval too much of a risk.”

“Then why didn't you recognize me?”

“Knowledge of your identity might have been purged even from Courser programming, as a safeguard against a chance encounter with an overly-literal Courser attempting to bring you in and announcing the Institute’s presence. I don’t know why they would have chosen Rivet City, but the Capital Wasteland has been known as a potential destination for runaways for some time, so,” she shrugged, “maybe one day you would have been brought back, wiped, and made an undercover agent. Joining the Brotherhood saved you that fate, perhaps. Who knows?”

Danse and Preston stared at her, and then each other. The idea of Danse as an Institute operative was… almost funny, in an absolutely horrifying way.

“This is all hypothetical, of course,” Chase added. “You could have been created after I broke away for all I know.”

A loud shout from over the radio sent all three running; Nick had cried out in pain. Faraday was scolding, Sturges was scolding back, each blaming the other for lack of description.

“You are worse than two recruits arguing over who started a fight!” Curie took control, “Instead of putting blame, you should be concerned for the well-being of the patient!”

Though it was too quiet to tell for sure, everyone heard something that sounded an awful lot like Nick chuckling, “You tell 'em.”

Shaun quietly asked, “You ok, Nick?”

“Sure, kid,” Nick said, his amused drawl almost covering the pain, “Heck, hurt less than stepping on a mine.”

Curie continued, “Monsieur Faraday, the piece you described is unfortunately very similar to another. Can you be more specific concerning details?”

Faraday sighed, and tried again. This was the last step; after this, Nick should be back to fully functional. Or, it wouldn't work at all, and they'd have to start from scratch.

Sturges muttered to himself a moment, then said, “Darlin’, your fingers are smaller than mine, can you reach that wire?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Curie said. “This needs to be reattached here, yes?”

“Yep. And assuming we didn't screw up again, we should hear a pretty little hum from the motor right… now.”

Nick made a relieved sound, “Feels better already. Guess that means it worked?”

“Nick's fixed?” Shaun asked, excited.

“So it seems,” Holmes said, pleased.

Faraday breathed deep, slumping in his seat. Dima put a hand on his shoulder with a small smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Faraday!” Shaun proclaimed.

Faraday was surprised. “Oh. Um. You're welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Holmes. “We appreciate the help, a great deal.”

“Wait a sec, Shaun,” Nick laughed, “let 'em get some of this skin back in place first, then I'll hug all you want.”

“One of these days, Faraday,” Sturges said, impressed, “we're gonna have to meet.”

“That… might be nice,” Faraday hedged.

“It would be fascinating to see your island,” Curie said, excited. “General Holmes told us of this spectacular natural phenomena -”

“Before you get started, honey,” Sturges laughed, “hand me the adhesive you whipped up, huh?”

“Oh! Of course. Ah, and we should stop the broadcast, no? For security?” she sounded disappointed.

“Unfortunately, that would be wise,” Danse said.

“Indeed,” Holmes said. “Say goodbye, Shaun.”

“Goodbye Mr. Faraday and Uncle Dima! And come back soon Danse and Preston!”

“Yes, sir,” Preston laughed.

“Goodbye,” Dima said.

The radio off, Preston smiled, “Thanks again, Faraday. I know it's a huge weight off Nick's family.”

“I'm glad it worked,” Faraday smiled back.

“I'm glad to see Nick has found such a family, and so many friends willing to go great lengths to help him,” Dima said.

Dima, Danse thought, had an uncanny talent for asking a lot of questions without saying any words. “I'm certain Valentine would do the same for us,” he put on his helmet. “Besides, regardless of friendship, it is our duty to help anyone in need to the best of our ability.”

“Even if it means travelling to a far off island,” Preston added with a grin. “For that matter, if there's any way some folks from the Commonwealth can be of service to you in the future, let us know.”

“We will,” Dima said, possibly amused. “Thank you, gentlemen. I hope you have a safe journey home.”

They headed out. Preston asked Danse, “Ready to go home?”

“Extremely.”

“Do we need to stop for anything? Ammo, food? A drink?”

“I'm fine, Preston,” Danse said softly.

“Good. After what Chase said, I wanted to be sure.”

Danse thought a moment. “It was hypothetical. She doesn't know my original purpose, or how I escaped, or why, any more than anyone else. And in the end… it doesn't matter. My life as it is, what I know to be true, that is the most important part of me.”

Preston's smile beamed. “I'm holding you to that.” He picked up the pace down the mountain, “Come on, babe. Shaun told us to get back soon; let's not disappoint him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only other confirmed M7 unit in the game is Mayor McDonough. Just sayin'.


	20. Coming Home from Far Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Danse and Preston do when they get home from Far Harbor is sleep. The second thing they do is have sex.

When Preston and Danse returned to Sanctuary, it was late, and they were exhausted. They answered the guard's surprised “Welcome home, sirs!” with genuine thanks, and went straight to their quarters. A touch of an armored hand on his shoulder was all Preston needed to turn his feet to Danse's house. They wordlessly stripped down to their underwear, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. 

Danse woke first, as he usually did. He wondered if he was physically incapable of “sleeping in.” He'd slept late before, of course, but considering he was usually up shortly after dawn, his version of late was still comparatively early. He couldn't remember ever sleeping til the afternoon. Was that a result of his… design, or was that simply deeply ingrained habit? He watched the man beside him sleep and wondered if it mattered.

They'd talked, a lot, on the trip home. He smiled to himself; Sanctuary felt like home, and Danse was certain Preston was a large part of the reason why. Preston's concern for him, willingness to defend him, to listen to him… he didn't care the reason Danse was the way he was. As Danse's mind reeled with the new potentialities of his existence, possibilities he'd never know were true or not, Preston stood firm in his opinion that the man in front of him (machine or not) was what mattered most.

Preston woke to Danse's arm around him, the gentle scratch of his short beard nuzzling the back of Preston's neck. “Morning already?” Preston yawned. Danse made an affirming sound. Preston smiled, “How long have you been awake?”

“Sunrise.”

Preston looked at the sky out the window. It was well past dawn. “You've been here the whole time?”

Danse nodded. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Preston shook his head, “What did I say?”

“Something about maps.”

Preston elbowed him with a laugh, “Shut up.”

Danse smiled and kissed his cheek, “We aren't expected to be anywhere. We should report to our General at some point, but I for one am content to stay for a while.”

Preston stretched and pressed back against Danse with a grin, “A morning where we don't have to be anywhere? Do anything?” 

Danse smiled against the nape of Preston's neck, “Hard to imagine.”

“What are we going to do with ourselves?” Preston tried not to writhe as Danse sucked on the edge of his ear.

“May I make a suggestion?” Danse's hand trailed down the side of Preston's body and back to cup his ass before sliding to the front. Calloused fingers teased through the fly of Preston's briefs, earning a gasped smile before Danse's hand slowly worked up and down Preston's hardening cock through the cloth.

“I like this suggestion,” Preston murmured as Danse kissed down his neck.

“I thought you might,” Danse said, amused. He let Preston watch his hand move for a few moments, enjoying his look of fascination melded with desire. Then he turned him face down onto the bed, stripped away the briefs, and slid his hand between Preston's legs from behind.

“Oh, fuck babe,” Preston groaned, his ass rising just enough to give Danse's hand more room to wrap around his cock.

Danse placed a kiss on the curve of Preston's ass, just before giving it a quick bite. Preston's yelp was muffled by the pillow. “Was that a good sound?” Danse asked with a wicked grin.

“Yes,” Preston breathed, and grunted as Danse nipped the other side.

Danse kissed and bit again, taking his hand from Preston's cock to toy with his balls. Preston groaned into the pillow, making Danse smile. “Don't move,” he softly ordered. Preston stayed still as Danse stood to strip, sighing in relief at the release, and pulled the oil from the bedside table drawer. He grinned to see Preston watching hungrily as he coated his cock in the lubricant. 

Danse applied some oil to Preston's ass before putting the jar away. He returned to his position behind him, and ran a hand down his spine. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes…” Preston's face went back into his pillow with a long moan as Danse slowly pressed into him.

A low sound that was almost a growl came from deep in Danse's throat. He kept his movements small, just barely inside. Preston breathed deep and tried to relax as Danse coaxed him open.

“More,” Preston quietly begged.

Danse pressed deeper. Preston muttered a string of curses as Danse moved, his body covering Preston's to say close to his ear, “Being inside you is goddamn amazing.” He made a small circle with his hips, prompting a groaning whimper from Preston. Danse moved his hips in slow undulation, finding just the right angle.

“Oh fuck babe,” Preston gasped, “you're driving me crazy.”

Danse's hot breath tickled Preston's neck, “Look at the way your hips move…” Preston was desperately doing what little he could under Danse's weight to get even more stimulation, “whole body writhing under me, all on pins and needles…”

“Danse,” Preston begged.

Danse started to move a little faster, his thrusts steady and deep, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes!” Preston gasped, “Shit, yes, fuck, babe, please just like that…”

“Don't cum til I say so, Preston. Can you do that?”

“Try…”

“I know you can.”

“Hard to hold back when you're so good at fucking me…” his whole body shivered, “Holy shit you're so good at fucking me…”

Danse kept his pace steady, “Love feeling you cum, seeing it. Feel so… so human when we do this… you’re so beautiful when you cum. Can’t see your face like this so you’ll have to tell me, alright? Let me hear you?”

Preston nodded, breathless,“Ok… fuck, I'm so close Danse please…”

“Almost there,” Danse's own breath was short and fast, Preston's moan with each thrust driving him to the edge, “almost so close… so… now!”

Preston came with a shout, the sudden tightening around Danse triggering his own orgasm as they came together. Danse pulled out and fell to the side, a leg still across Preston's thigh. 

They lay still for a few moments before Preston turned his face to him and smiled, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Danse smiled back. He kissed Preston's lips softly, “Thank you.”

“You, too. That was incredible.”

“It was.” Another silent moment passed before Danse kissed Preston's cheek, “We should clean up.”

Preston sighed, “Yeah. Ok, I'm coming.”

“Again?”

Preston laughed and shoved him, “Smartass.”

They washed and lazily dressed, the process made slow by taking every moment presented to kiss or simply touch a hand or shoulder or hip, the rest of the world distant for once.

“I should move the rest my stuff out of my place,” Preston muttered to himself as he pulled a spare shirt from Danse's closet.

“It would be more efficient,” Danse said after a beat. “It's rather ridiculous for me to have an entire house to myself. Besides that, you've practically moved in already -”

“Danse,” Preston kissed him, smiling, “you don't have to convince me.”

Danse grinned, embarrassed. “Oh. Good.” 

“Think there's any breakfast left at the mess?”

“I'm sure we can scavenge something.”

Fully dressed, they stepped outside and saw Shaun and Dogmeat playing with a thin boy with light brown hair Preston didn't recognize.

“New family got here while we were gone?” Preston wondered. Then he saw Danse's slight scowl. “What's wrong?”

Danse blinked, his expression clearing. “I recognized the boy,” he said as he climbed into his armor.

That was surprising. “Really? How?”

“Danse! Preston!” Shaun waved and ran over. Dogmeat followed, greeting Preston with a happy bark, begging for scratches Preston was happy to provide.

Shaun stopped in his tracks at the last possible moment to prevent the hug he clearly intended. “Hi, Danse.”

Danse smiled, “Hello, Shaun.”

“Thanks for getting Mr. Faraday to help Nick. You too, Preston.”

“You're very welcome,” Danse said.

Preston nodded, “Happy to help. Who's your friend?”

“Oh!” Shaun waved the much younger boy over. He came shyly, nervous. “This is Duncan MacCready. My dad helped his dad after he hired him to help him.”

Preston chuckled, “Not sure I got all that, but pleased to meet you, Duncan. I'm Colonel Garvey, but you can call me Preston.”

Duncan waved with a small smile and a quiet, “Hi!” 

“We're pretending to run the bases,” Shaun informed them. “Duncan doesn't like hide and seek, so Nick's been teaching us to play baseball. We're good at the running part, but catching a ball is harder than it looks.”

“It does take practice,” Danse said. “We'll let you return to your game while we have breakfast.”

“You haven't eaten yet!?” Shaun was shocked. “But you're always up early! What did you do all morning?”

Danse felt his face warm as Preston dissolved in silent laughter. Danse rolled his eyes at his friend's behavior, but it was with a fond smile. “Even I sometimes find occasions when I want to stay in bed,” Danse said. “Now go on and play, we'll see you again I'm sure.”

The boys said “bye” and ran off.

“The look on your face was priceless,” Preston finally got control of himself.

“Apparently,” Danse raised an eyebrow.

“I'd kiss you if all that armor weren't in the way.”

“You'll have to make up for it later.”

As they entered the mess hall, Preston asked, “So how do you know the kid?”

“While travelling with Holmes and Valentine we came upon a trade caravan. Duncan's father was travelling with them. He's a mercenary.”

Preston frowned, “A merc who runs around with a kid?”

“It was a relatively tame assignment, and the caravan was grateful. I don't know the full circumstances of how he and Holmes met, but apparently Holmes helped save Duncan's life. Homes invited them to come to Sanctuary. Apparently he did.”

“Well, if Holmes approves of him, I'll try to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Preston smiled, “Come on, let’s eat and head over to headquarters.”


	21. Quincy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston freely admits he hates Gunners, with good reason. Hate is a powerful thing. Sometimes it doesn't take much to bring back everything you've tried to forget.

In the days following his return from Far Harbor, Danse threw himself back into training the Minutemen with enthusiasm. The troops were glad to have him back, the return to military order a welcome if exhausting relief from the comparative chaos of General Holmes's methods. However, those methods were not without merit, so Danse started trying to find ways to incorporate both Holmes and Garvey's training techniques into his own training program. The project was an interesting challenge, and he was impressed with the adaptability of his soldiers. 

Preston spent his time inside headquarters, catching up on all the reports he'd missed, assessing the needs of settlements and patrols. He was hardly seen outside his office for over a week. He only seemed to remember meals when Danse prompted him, and came home late at night. He slept poorly. Danse was worried. 

He wasn't the only one. Danse sat in the mess hall one evening when three recruits approached, “Evening, Lt. Colonel.”

“Good evening, Brown. Jackson, MichaeIs.” The three were very promising. He had high hopes for them, and during the duration of Garvey and Holmes's training they'd become practically inseparable.

“Hey, sir,” Jackson said with a lazy salute that would have been disrespectful in the Brotherhood. Danse had made an effort to enforce stricter manners in the Minutemen, to mixed results. Michaels elbowed her, and she straightened up.

“Mind if we share the table, sir?” Michaels asked.

The mess was crowded this evening, and Danse had claimed the only empty table. “Of course not, please sit.” With a pointed look at Jackson, he said, “At ease.”

They sat gratefully, “No Colonel tonight?” Brown asked.

“I'm sure he'll be along,” Danse lied.

The recruits glanced at each other doubtfully, but turned their attention to their meals. 

“Do you really want to continue the General's awareness training, sir?” Michaels asked between bites.

Danse smiled a little, “Does that idea make you nervous, Michaels?”

“Uh.” Michaels swallowed a little too fast, coughing, “A bit.”

“You had no such objection to continuing Col. Garvey's team building exercise.”

“Capturing the flag was fun! Waiting for the General to sneak up on you every time you're on guard duty is exhausting.”

“Considering guard duty shouldn't be easy, I don't see any flaw. I'm sure Brown would agree.”

Brown hid his face with an embarrassed grin, “The General mentioned the bear thing.”

“He included it in his report,” Danse nodded with a smirk. “He also mentioned that you had taken to heart his lessons on the importance of observation afterward.”

Brown seemed relieved, “Oh. Good.”

Jackson spoke up with some hesitancy, “Hey, Lt. Colonel… is Col. Garvey ok? He's been keeping to himself a lot more than usual.”

Michaels nodded, “Yeah, keeps working in the office, planning something.”

Danse's brow furrowed, “Planning?”

Michaels shrugged, “That's what it looks like.”

“Either that or you two had a hell of a fight,” Brown muttered. Jackson kicked him under the table. “Sorry, that's not how that was supposed to sound, you're just…” Brown somehow managed to keep his thoughts together under Danse's hard stare. “It's weird seeing you here by yourself, sir, that's all. Especially after the Colonel moved in, I mean… well, we're all kind of…” he glanced at his friends for support.

Michaels hid his face in his arms on the table as Jackson rolled her eyes and took over. “It’s none of our business,” she said, “but we just wondered if something was wrong, that's all.”

“I understand,” Danse said. This was… strange. Soldiers under him weren't supposed to take an active interest in his personal life, but this seemed to come from a place of genuine concern. “He hasn't been sleeping well,” he admitted. “I don't know why, he won't tell me.” A flash of sympathy across their faces was the limit. “Your concern is appreciated, but the matter is closed.”

They nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

He had to talk to Preston. He should have talked to him before now. Danse stood, “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thank you, sir,” they said. 

Danse went to the building acting as headquarters. Garvey was drawing on a map on his desk by lantern light.

“A moment of your time, Colonel?”

Garvey didn't look up. “Sure, Danse. Something wrong?”

Danse frowned, “I'm concerned about one of the soldiers. Though he technically continues to fulfill his daily duties, he's also isolating himself, has little appetite, and gets little sleep. The rest of the troops are concerned as well.”

Garvey sighed, “I guess he won't talk about whatever's wrong?”

“He hasn't yet, to me or any friends.”

Garvey put down the pencil and straightened up, arms folded as he glared at the map. “Did Curie have any mental health programming?

Danse blinked. Garvey hardly ever alluded to Curie's… origin. “I don't know. I don't think he'd go, even if she could help.”

“If you think it's a serious problem, you could order him to go.”

“That would be inappropriate, as the soldier in question outranks me.”

Garvey finally looked at him, puzzled and surprised… and glanced away with a quiet, “Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence settled.

A horrible thought occurred to Danse, “Have I done something?”

The sheer surprise of Preston's reaction was encouraging, “What?”

Now Danse felt embarrassed even mentioning it. Still, he explained, “Your seclusion started almost immediately after moving in with me. I recognize there is a great deal requiring your attention, but we've hardly said three words to each other since Holmes left.”

Preston rubbed the back of his neck, “I'm sorry. I haven't been trying to avoid you, I'm just…” he made an exasperated gesture toward the desk. 

Danse walked over, his armor preventing him from being as close as he would have liked. “May I ask what you’ve been working on?”

Preston sighed, “Just nonsense. Fooling myself.”

Danse looked over Preston's shoulder, “A map of Quincy and its surroundings?”

“Yeah. It's dumb, forget about it.”

“You're not the sort of person who would spend a week doing anything dumb,” Danse slid the map toward him for a better look, and blinked. “These are invasion plans.” Preston was quiet. “You took that... insubordinate civilian's remark to heart.”

“‘Insubordinate civilian?’”

“It was the most polite description I could think of.”

Preston smirked, “Don't have to be polite with me.”

“Even so. There's a good chance we'll have to work with him at some point.”

“Joy.”

Danse's small smile faded as he flipped through the other maps on the desk. “How many plans have you made?”

“Just a couple possibilities -”

“Seven?”

“Maybe more than a couple.”

Danse frowned, “A lot of effort for an unnecessary operation.”

“Unnecessary?” Danse realized his mistake too late. Preston was angry, “We should wipe out every last one of those Gunner bastards -”

“The Minutemen don't need revenge to prove themselves a force to be reckoned with.”

“It’s not about revenge -”

“No?” Danse couldn't believe they were even talking about this, “Do you see some strategic importance in holding an entire town with the handful of soldiers we could spare to keep stationed there? How do you plan on preventing the Gunners from simply taking it back all over again?”

Preston looked away, fuming, “I want to wipe out every last one of those cold-blooded murderers. I want Clint to pay for everything he did. I thought I could just let him rot there, but ever since MacCready made one fucking joke, I can't stop thinking about it. We gave the Gunners a hell of a fight, but we never really stood a chance. There were just too many of them and too few of us.”

“That’s still the case.”

Preston slammed the desk in frustration, “We took down the Institute, we should be able -”

“Your success in the Institute was due to the element of surprise. A small group moving efficiently through an enclosed space is different from a direct attack on a large town. I imagine the scientists were reluctant to sacrifice their own people in order to stop your progress. Gunners will have no such inhibition. A well-placed missile or mini-nuke would be detrimental to our troops, not just the potential for lives lost but for morale.” Danse shook his head, “You know all this. I have no desire to stop you from eliminating Gunners from the Commonwealth. However, I must respectfully urge that it be done intelligently.”

Preston sat heavily in the chair by the desk. He was so tired. “I know. None of these plans would work, not without knowing what they've got set up, at least. Clint would probably anticipate anything I threw at him anyway.”

“Clint is the traitor that currently resides in Quincy?”

“Yeah. At least, last I heard. Fuck, I don't even know for sure if he's still there or not.” He shook his head in disappointment, perhaps disgust. “Bet you never had to talk one of your Brotherhood superiors out of something idiotic.”

“I never attempted it.” Danse tried to think of something else to say, anything… “Your fifth plan has promise.”

“Pfft, don't patronize me.”

Danse sighed, “Garvey, if you gave the order, I would do my best to bring success to the mission. But I know you're better than this, that you're letting anger cloud your judgement. So I must object. That and… I'm worried about you.” Silence. Danse exited his armor and took a step forward. Preston didn't respond. “Preston?”

Preston blinked a few times, rubbed his hands over his face, and breathed deep. “I'm fine, babe,” he said softly. “I'm ok, I promise. Just…” he laughed a little, bitter, “must have been three or four months since I even thought about the bastard, and then one fucking comment and…” he made a gesture of an explosion.

Danse nodded. “Will you follow me, please?”

“Where?”

“The mess hall, to start. Then I would like you to get some rest. You haven't been sleeping well.”

Preston smiled, faint, but there. “Sure. Can't guarantee much rest, but I'll try.”

“That's all I ask.”

Preston nodded and stood, “Ok.”

Danse escorted him to the mess and made sure he was seated with food in front of him before Danse left for a moment to secure his armor back in its station. When he returned, he commandeered a couple bottles of beer from the kitchen and was relieved to see Preston actually eating.

Danse sat next to Preston. Preston looked at the beers and smiled. “Beer?”

“As we're both off duty, I thought there would be no objection. The General's even in the Commonwealth this time.”

Preston's smile widened, just a little. “I guess I can't argue with that. So, are you going to bring me beer and kiss me every time I'm stressed out?”

“I haven't kissed you yet.”

“Only because I'm eating, and you don't like big displays of affection in front of other people.”

Danse smiled, “True.”

Danse told him about the changes he'd made to the training program and which recruits were most promising. Preston seemed to listen, though sometimes there would be a distant look to his face. He was clearly tired, so as soon as he finished eating, Danse walked him home.

Preston switched on the radio as they stepped inside, in what Danse was learning was his customary habit at the end of the day. Radio Freedom's music relaxed Preston, and he slept better with the reassurance “all is quiet.”

All was not quiet tonight.

_“Repeat: Jamaica Plain has been attacked by Gunners from the south. Gunners attacked the settlement's artillery with a missile launcher, preventing its use. Minutemen from the nearby checkpoint responded to the attack. The Gunners retreated. Many soldiers and settlers were wounded. Three casualties have been reported. Minuteman Wainwright is overseeing settlement repairs. The Castle is sending extra soldiers to aid in defense until the artillery is restored.”_

“He knew the artillery would be key,” Preston muttered. 

Danse put a hand on his shoulder. Preston didn't seem to notice. “The Gunners retreated,” Danse said, firm. “The Minutemen responded. Jamaica Plain will rebuild.”

Preston hook his head, tense, “They'll come back.”

Danse turned the radio off. “We're a three day march from Jamaica Plain; The Castle is in a better position to help. There's nothing you can do.”

“… yeah.” Preston didn't believe him.

Danse didn't know what else he could say. “We can contact the Castle tomorrow and see if we can be of use. For now, will you come to bed?”

Preston sighed, “Ok.”

 

Preston was gone in the morning.

\---

Preston ate a mutfruit as he walked, the piece of fruit and a strip of leftover radstag from the night before serving as lunch. He'd made good time; he'd reach Quincy by evening.

He avoided everyone on the road if he could, passing between settlements and sneaking past raiders whenever possible. He didn't want trouble using up his resources, and he didn't want to explain why he was passing through. The General wouldn't understand; that was Preston's fault too, he figured, not making it clearer up front the sort of savage scum the Gunners were. Jamaica Plain would be a second Quincy if they didn't do something. 

There was no way Preston could kill them all, he knew that, but he could take down one of them. Just one. He should have stopped Clint a long time ago. He should have recognized him for what he was before everything went to hell.

Quincy was… different. So much was the same, but it seemed like nothing damaged had been repaired. The walkways Sturges had added between rooftops for a counter-attack were still there, but now they were patrol routes for Gunners. The high ground was how they'd won…

Preston focused on what he was doing. Sneaking through a town packed with Gunners was a bad idea, but he heard someone passing mention “the lieutenant” being pissed about the way Baker ran the raid. The response was “only time Clint ever comes down is to bitch at Baker.”

Clint. Come down… Preston looked up. The walkways?

It was amazing how little the Gunners seemed to care about gunfire over their heads. Everytime he killed one, others scrambled as he hid and then gave up if he stayed hidden long enough. But it was clear his luck was running out. He'd pushed himself too hard, and he was out of stimpaks.

He'd tried a couple buildings in his search for Clint and found only mercs and scattered supplies. Then he'd shot down the bastard in the bell tower of the church with a Fat Man. Preston couldn't even imagine how the hell anyone could have thought a miniature nuclear bomb launcher was a good idea.

How was he going to find Clint? Maybe he wasn't high enough? He turned his attention to the broken down highway overpass, just as the sound of a vertibird echoed across the town. What the fuck were the Brotherhood of Steel doing in Quincy?

Fighting Gunners, apparently. A small squad of soldiers in full armor hit the ground by a gap in the town's wall and began an attack as the vertibird pilot circled the town, an unarmored soldier firing the deck gun to provide air support. The Gunner response was immediate, and Preston took full advantage of the distraction.

Getting up to the overpass still wasn't easy, but damn it he couldn't back down now. Standing near a shack just past the ramp up to the second level stood a man in a mismatched suit of power armor. Instead of a helmet, the bearded man inside it wore a Minutemen's hat.

Clint's back was to Preston, his attention on the Brotherhood vertibird as it spiraled out of control, smoke pouring from its tail. The machine crashed into the town's wall, taking a building with it. Preston cranked his musket's power to full and fired at the armor's fusion core.

Danse had once mentioned the best way to take on an opponent in power armor was to target the core. He hadn't mentioned the small explosion that happened when the core was ejected.

Preston wasn't close enough to get hurt, but he was close enough to be surprised and distracted. A singed Clint scrambled out of the armor as Preston cranked a new charge into his musket, but Clint's laser rifle was faster. Preston's right leg gave way as the shot seared through, allowing Clint to charge forward and send Preston sprawling on the asphalt.

“Gotta admit, I'm surprised,” Clint said with a mocking smirk, the rifle aimed squarely at Preston's head. “Don't tell me you joined the Brotherhood?”

“Lucky coincidence,” Preston gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg. “Some of us aren't willing to give up what we stand for so easy.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You're a naive fool, just like Colonel Hollis was. If you want to bring order out of the chaos, you need strength to do it, and Minutemen still haven't got shit against Gunners. And now you're gonna die like Hollis did - alone.”

A laser blast burned a hole across the top of Clint's hat. “The fuck?” Clint turned his gun in the direction of the shot. Preston couldn't see who was coming up the ramp, but he saw Clint's surprise and confusion just before a rapid volley reduced the Minutemen deserter to ash, his rifle clattering to the ground at Preston's feet.

The person down the ramp behind him started running. It sounded like power armor. Preston cursed and cranked up the power of his musket twice; he wasn't going to give any Brotherhood soldier the benefit of the doubt -

“Garvey?”

Preston let go of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, eyes wide, “Danse?!”

Danse knelt down next to him, “Are you alright?”

Preston nodded, “Leg's pretty bad, but other than that I'm good.” As Danse pulled a stimpak from a storage slot in his armor, Preston said, “You didn't mention they explode.”

“What?” Danse injected the site of the injury.

Preston grunted. It stung like hell. “The fusion core in power armor.”

“It's a miniature nuclear fusion generator, of course it's going to explode when damaged. Can you walk?”

Preston could barely move his leg and it hurt, a lot, but he only said, “Help me up, we have to get outta here.”

Danse nodded, “Affirmative.” He stood, grabbing Clint's gun and hauling Preston to his feet, “Come on.”

Preston barely noticed where Danse was taking him, firing when alerted, relying on Danse to keep them alive as they passed Gunners and avoided Brotherhood.

“Why are the Brotherhood here?” Preston asked.

“The town was identified as a potential base; regular attempts were made to take control, but the Gunners are too deeply entrenched. Apparently, matters have shifted enough for Maxson to reconsider taking the town again.”

“What ‘matters?’ They've got Cambridge and the airport. If it's not enough, leave. Why bother messing with Gunners?”

"You scold the Brotherhood for not helping the Commonwealth and then get annoyed when they take action."

"The action is only for them. Any benefit to everyone else is coincidence. You just said so yourself, they want the town as a base, that's it." A spike of pain through his leg sent him cursing. “And now the man they want dead is here. What the hell were you thinking -”

“I was thinking that my friend was going to get himself killed on a suicide mission!” Danse bit, barely keeping himself from shouting. He punched a Gunner that rounded the corner, knocking him unconscious. His next words were a harsh angry whisper, “I can't believe you went AWOL for a personal vendetta.”

Preston didn't say anything at first as they kept moving. “I had to see for myself. Had to stop him.”

“You were nearly killed.”

“... yeah.” If Danse hadn't followed him... “Thanks. Sorry.”

Danse sighed, exasperated, “We shouldn't be arguing, it's hard enough to get out of here. At least the ridiculous tattoos on their foreheads make a good bullseye."

The Brotherhood had retreated, but some Gunners were chasing after them for the thrill of it. They had to fight their way past a handful who were returning to their posts or bunks, but managed to get outside the wall and begin a slow progress south.

Preston was confused. South was the wrong way, but something else was wrong. He felt like he was drifting. “Danse?”

“What do you need?”

“... I don't know...”

“Damn.” The curse had been muttered, but an armored arm wrapped around Preston, trying to support him, “Stay with me, soldier. I know a safe place we can rest.”

Preston didn't know how much time passed, but he frowned at the sight of a two story house in the middle of a swampy area. “Danse? Where -”

“They have no love of Gunners, or Brotherhood, and General Holmes returned their son to them. We're safe here.”

A ghoul woman in a blue dress and heels holding a shotgun opened the door. “Oh my gosh! Matt, help him!”

A ghoul man in a padded jacket hurried out. “You responsible for the action in Quincy, Lt. Colonel?” he asked as he helped him get Preston inside.

“Not entirely,” Danse said. “This is Colonel Garvey, his knee is injured.”

“I’ll get him to the sofa,” Matt said as Danse paused to leave his armor behind on the porch.

Preston lied down on the worn old sofa by a window with a wince and a groan. He heard the woman talking quietly to someone, her husband louder as he asked Danse what they could do to help. Danse said something, but Preston didn’t really hear, or realize that he’d heard.

A hand on his face. “Garvey? Preston, look at me.” Preston turned his head. Danse was frowning at him. “It’s over. He’s gone, and you caused a little chaos in their chain of command.”

Preston’s heart raced. “They’ll get someone else. They'll always be there ready to hurt anyone for anything -”

“And the Minutemen will be ready to stop them.”

“But we can't -”

“We will. You'll see to that.” Preston looked away, frustrated. “What is it you always tell the recruits, something about taking back the Commonwealth one piece at a time, one small victory at a time?”

“Yeah. Guess this counts as a victory.” He didn’t really believe that, but… wait. Why wasn’t he wearing pants? He saw the bandage around his knee. Wow, he really had been out of it.

“You’re extremely lucky,” Danse said with a gesture to the bandages. “The shot hit just above the knee, rather than through the knee itself. The bandages will hopefully prevent infection, but I’m not sure if stimpaks are going to be effective enough for the walk home.”

Preston nodded once. Home. “I really fucked up, didn't I?”

Danse’s lips pressed together. “You weren't yourself.”

Preston almost laughed, the sound choked off by his throat tightening. He looked at the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at Danse. “I've never hated anyone the way I hate Gunners. And Clint... I'm glad he's dead, I wanted him to be dead so badly...” Something broke inside, his breath shaking, his hand clutching Danse’s shirt as Danse suddenly pulled him close, holding him tight. “I hate him so much,” he muttered into Danse’s chest.

“I know,” Danse sighed, “I know.” He held him until the tears stopped. “I don’t tell you this enough, but you're one of the finest soldiers I've ever had the privilege of serving with, and wherever it is that you're leading us, I'll proudly follow.

Preston pulled away with a grimace. “Don’t. You don't have to say stuff like that -”

“Preston.” Danse held his hand, firm, “I would never lie about a soldier’s abilities just because I liked them.”

Preston didn’t believe him, but it was a nice thought. “I hope that’s true.”

“I'd tell you to ask any Brotherhood soldier familiar with me, but these days that wouldn't go over well.” 

“Probably not.” Preston still didn’t quite believe him, but the thought made him smile, for a moment. “Hang on, who's running things if you're out here with me?”

“Chief Engineer Sturges.”

“Chief Engineer?”

“I told him if any recruit challenged him to pull rank.”

Preston was very confused. “Rank?”

“Major.”

Preston's brow rose, “You made Sturges a major just so he could supervise the troops while you chased after me?”

Danse was mildly defensive, “I believe it was customary for the chief of engineers in the Army to hold some form of rank.”

Preston smiled. “Did you really make Sturges a major?”

Danse shook his head, “I tried, but he refused. ‘Strictly civilian,’ he said.”

“So, no one is in charge.”

“No, Sturges is. I made it perfectly clear to everyone that insubordination and/or acting outside expected behavior would not be tolerated. Sturges is to be consulted for daily duties and to resolve potential conflicts, and is to be given respect as the highest ranking member of the Minutemen Civilian Corps.”

“Which you just made up on the spot.”

Danse shrugged, “I was in a hurry.”

Preston was quiet for a moment, worried. “Do they know?”

“Do our soldiers know why you disappeared and I went charging after you?” At Preston's nod, Danse shook his head, “Not exactly. They know you left on a special mission to eliminate a Gunner threat, something went wrong, and that I left to provide back-up. I did not specify where this threat was located or why you needed help. Everyone assumes I insisted I go because of our relationship.”

“They're ok with that? The explanation, I mean.”

“I heard no objection.”

That wasn't the same thing. “I don't like keeping secrets.”

“You don't have to,” Danse held his hand, “but it's not my place to talk about your demons.”

Preston was grateful. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Danse hesitated, his hand tight around Preston's. “You scared the hell out of me. If anything happened to you, I...” he blushed, soft and shy, “I honestly don't know what I'd do.” A stunned ‘sorry’ was all Preston could manage but Danse shook his head, “You don't have to apologize, just... talk to me next time, please, tell me anything. Everything.”

“... Ok.” Preston's heart pounded, though whether from guilt or joy he couldn't tell. Danse loosely draped a blanket across Preston's legs, and Preston heard himself saying, "I always wondered why Clint turned on us. Figured it had to be greed or power, but when it came down to it, he turned on us because he was looking out for his own skin.”

“He was a coward,” Danse said with perfect certainty.

“He was right,” Preston tried to explain. “He could see what was coming. I didn't want to. There was no way we could have kept Quincy from falling.”

“He hastened Quincy's destruction instead of trying to help. He turned his back on his brothers and sisters in arms instead of trying to save who he could against impossible odds. He chose to rot in stagnant comfort instead of fighting to rise up as something better than before.” Danse spoke with an earnest urgency, like everything depended on Preston believing him, “Those are the ideals the Minutemen stand for, the ideals you have instilled in all of your men… including me.” He paused then, wrestling with words that couldn’t quite express whatever he was trying to say. 

“I'm glad you're with us,” Preston said, “with me.”

Danse smiled, “So am I.” His thumb gently brushed Preston’s cheek, “You look exhausted.”

Preston almost laughed, “I bet.”

Danse gently kissed his lips, “Rest. We're safe, and I’ll be right here.”

Preston breathed deep and tried to relax. It eventually worked.

 

Preston was able to walk after a day off his leg, though the leg was stiff and weakened quickly. Mentally and emotionally, his recovery owed a great deal to watching the Peabodys’ son Billy interact with Danse, though he’d never tell Danse that. The ghoulish boy (which had been a hell of a surprise) was fascinated with the soldier and wanted to know everything about power armor and laser rifles, to his mother’s dismay and father’s amusement. Danse humored him, answering all his questions with simple explanations. The kid was starved for company, a fact that Danse promised to remedy with the help of the General soon. Billy also talked a lot with Preston, asking what the Minutemen were like and how many places Preston had seen and talking about how much the world had changed in 200 years. Preston didn't mind at all; he'd always had a soft spot for kids.

The Peabodys invited them to stay as long as they needed, but with the recent Brotherhood activity in the area Danse was unwilling to put them in danger by his presence, more than they already were merely by being ghouls. So, they made a slow trip north to Jamaica Plain. As they were in the area, Danse thought it would be good for Preston to see for himself how the settlement was doing.

The people of Jamaica Plain were doing surprisingly well. Wainwright had repairs planned and going according to schedule. The Castle had sent down three Minutemen so far to help wherever needed. Danse was pleased to see two of his recruits, Nash and Crosby, and Preston was glad to see one of the old guard, Stills, with them. 

They saluted with smiles as Danse approached. Preston received the same treatment, though Stills broke to offer a hand for a hearty shake. “Damn, Garvey, you've really done it.”

Preston smiled humbly, “I had help. Glad to see you came back to us.”

“Didn't have much choice when these two came strolling up,” he gestured to his companions, “serious as you like about making the Commonwealth a better place and all. Been ages since I've seen Minutemen stand so straight.”

Preston chuckled, “The Lt. Colonel is to thank for that.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Garvey,” Stills cautioned with a grin. “I've heard more stories about the man who was there when the Institute fell, the veteran of Quincy with the vision for a future, than I have about the mysterious Lieutenant Colonel.”

Danse tried not to show he'd heard, hiding his smile. Preston was stunned. “Oh. Well. Good.”

They stayed the night. Danse introduced Preston to Jane and Joan Lockheed; Jane had been injured in the attack, but was making a quick recovery. Preston had an idea to send Curie to the Castle and update the senior Minutemen medical knowledge. Her improved stimpaks should be standard issue at the very least.

They sat outside by a fire in the cool night, a lantern giving Danse some extra light to examine a rifle.

“Is that Clint’s gun?” Preston asked.

“Yes. AER9 laser rifle, gyro compensating lens and a marksman stock. I’m not familiar with the modification of the barrel, but it seems…” his brow rose at Preston's expression. “What?”

Preston shrugged, “Can’t decide if this is cute or not.”

“Cute?”

“You can be very cute.”

“I'm not trying to be.”

“You never are.”

An eyebrow rose as Danse set the gun down. He put out the lantern. “I wasn't aware ‘cute’ was an adjective you associate with me.”

“Not all the time.”

Danse smiled and put his arm around Preston. Preston pressed against him, rearranging until his back was against Danse's chest, Danse's arms wrapped protectively around his middle. Danse breathed against his neck with a soft kiss, “How's your leg?”

“Stiff. Stimpaks'll get me home, but Curie's gonna lecture us when we get there.”

“The primary mission is getting you home safe.”

“You too,” Preston yawned.

Danse's arms tightened around him. “Joan has a room for us. Let's get you to bed.”


End file.
